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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26981863">The Depth of Green</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sophie_skates_reads/pseuds/Sophie_skates_reads'>Sophie_skates_reads</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aged-Up Otabek Altin, Aged-Up Yuri Plisetsky, Alpha Otabek Altin, Alpha Sara Crispino, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ballet Dancer Yuri Plisetsky, Because I gave enough hints that it deserves its own tag, But Minimal Fluff, Complete, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Mpreg, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Mpreg, Omega Mila Babicheva, Omega Verse, Omega Yuri Plisetsky, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pregnancy, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slow Burn, Trauma, Work In Progress, but not really, kind of, otayuriweek, you'll see - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 22:20:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>70,839</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26981863</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sophie_skates_reads/pseuds/Sophie_skates_reads</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Back at home in Japan for an extended holiday, Otabek is coerced into visiting a matchmaking house by his mother.<br/>When Otabek goes, he expects to spend two hours staring at flirty omegas and to go home uninterested.<br/>When Otabek goes, he expects to be bored out of his mind with the whole, idiotic charade.<br/>When Otabek goes, he does <i>not</i> expect to meet the love of his life.<br/>Neither does he expect the blond-haired, green-eyed, thoroughly <i>not-Japanese</i> omega to have a secret.<br/>He just hopes that, whatever Yuri is hiding, it won't be enough to tear them apart.<br/>~<br/>Complete.<br/></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mila Babicheva &amp; Yuri Plisetsky, Mila Babicheva/Sara Crispino, Otabek Altin &amp; Mila Babicheva &amp; Yuri Plisetsky, Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky, Yuri Plisetsky/Original Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>446</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>273</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Otayuri Week 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a fic I've been thinking about for a long time (and when I say that, I mean <i>a long time),</i> and, Otayuri week has given me the kick to the head I've needed to <i>finally</i> write it!</p><p>(This is for Day Two: Fantasy/AU.)</p><p>I hope you guys enjoy! ♥</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Otabek did not want to be here; he was very much morally opposed to being here; he <i>really</i> didn’t want to be here. That did nothing to change that he was, in fact, here, in a large, picturesque, Japanese garden, watching Koi fish swim. Or, more accurately, standing just outside of the wrought-iron <i>fence</i> of a small, picturesque Japanese garden, craning his neck to see Koi fish swim in a little, winding pond a good twenty feet away. The whole setting reminded him a lot of <i>Mulan,</i> actually, though that had been set in China, but his purpose, or, his <i>assumed </i>purpose made up for that difference enough that he didn’t especially care to dissuade himself of the notion.</p><p>Otabek grimaced as he gazed out upon the gardens he couldn’t enter. They looked so beautiful; he’d love to be able to stroll through them, admiring the foliage and the architecture of the statues dotting the gardens, watching the Koi fish shimmer and dart beneath the surface of the pond. He loved gardens; he thought they were the perfect places to sit and think, ponder philosophy, and just enjoy each, individual moment. These gardens would be so well-suited for that task, he couldn’t help but think; but then they wouldn’t be what they were, Otabek reminded himself, though he would much prefer them that way.</p><p>Otabek deeply abhorred the matchmaking system; the whole thing was so archaic to be ludicrous and it made him feel as though he was living hundreds of years ago instead of in the twenty-first century. It was true, the class system in which he lived was one of the most frequent wanderings of his mind; no matter how hard he tried, from how many different perspectives he looked at it, he couldn’t see why a person who had the physical anatomy to bear children, versus one built to fertilize them, should be considered different classes of human. <i>How</i> was it okay to have absolute possession of a completely cognizant, capable, mentally <i>equal </i>being? It was beyond him. </p><p>And yet, there he was, waiting outside of a matchmaking house, glancing frequently enough at his watch that he appeared to have a very time-sensitive tick, and actively participating in the very system he despised. He had to play the part, though, because the next two months, his entire <i>life, </i>if he were being totally honest, would be infinitely more difficult if he did not.</p><p>In Japan, and other backward, illogical countries clinging to outdated hierarchies, some of the most important institutions of all were matchmaking houses. Upon their presentation, whenever that may be, omegas from all over the country were shipped away to their closest matchmaking house, exiled from their community, loved ones, and entire lives until an alpha saw it fit to, maybe, if the omega was exceedingly lucky, return them to it.</p><p>The houses themselves had been around for ages; publicly owned (anarchy had been a thing for a while; it hadn’t gone well), privately owned, owned by the state, however they came into existence and were maintained, matchmaking houses existed to provide a safe haven for omegas and to give them shelter, solace, and kinship in their search for a mate-- helping them to find one through frequent showings attended by any and all alphas with padded enough wallets. Of course, as all similar systems did, these houses fell far short of their esteemed ideals: abuse, neglect, and all manner of horrors were staples in house life, and dysfunction ran rampant among all who had the grave, <i>grave</i> misfortune of presenting as the secondary gender that would banish them to one. Otabek loathed the houses; them, and everything they stood for.</p><p>He was weak, though, and selfish, and would make his manipulated two months in Japan as pain-free as possible under his mother’s influence. Begging, pleading, and <i>pestering</i> had finally broken him: Otabek would go to a matchmaking house; he would view the omegas on display; he would <i>not</i> seek a mate. What his mother didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her, and, after attending several showings, declaring that no omega enticed him, and that he would try again when he returned to the States, Otabek expected that his mother might leave him alone long enough for him to salvage and possibly even <i>enjoy</i> the rest of his so-called vacation. How he’d been tricked into taking a two-month leave of absence under the thin veneer of returning home for his birthday and then the holidays, he would never know, but he knew enough to be sure that he wasn’t getting out of it, not over his mother’s dead body. </p><p>Otabek repressed a flood of irritation, keeping his scent neutral, and didn’t sigh when his watch ticked 4:01 and the alphas were still alone on the other side of the gate with no hint, glimpse, or scent of the omegas that were now <i>one minute late.</i> If Otabek had to stay here for two hours until the showing was over, he would, but was it too much to ask that it started on time?</p><p>Of course, irony of ironies, as the thought struck, the clang of a gong reverberated through the air, seemingly from nowhere, and, at the far end of the sweeping, sprawling, meticulously maintained garden, immense doors opened and tiny, brightly colored, kimono-clad figures appeared. The saccharine-sweet scent of multitudinous omegas perfused the air instantly; even from such a distance, even with the scent blockers they were <i>supposed</i> to wear, the omegas’ cloying, syrupy perfumes were unmissable. Always the same, too, in the houses: sickeningly sweet and floral; fragrances that would be more at home in a dated, cringe-worthy flower shop, complete with how-to magazines for alphas seeking mates and omegas endeavoring to attract them, than clustered together within the hoards of attractive, conventional, and virile omegas.</p><p>Each girl was pretty enough, Otabek supposed as they came into closer view, though he couldn’t really make out much; as was matchmaking custom, all of the omegas carried large parasols before them, effectively concealing everything from the bridge of their noses to their mid-thighs from view. A procedure originally implemented to reduce vanity and allow pairs to match operating on personality alone, opinions untarnished by superficial, physical characteristics, the custom was now largely ornamental, kept around only for tradition’s sake and ignored by many of the more voluptuous brides-to-be. Parasols fell low enough to expose heaving bosoms, lifted high enough to show the curve of one’s thighs and butt, and generally had their purposes all but ignored without the faintest hint of a consequence. </p><p>As the omegas lined up before the alphas waiting on the other side of the fence, Otabek watched the procession; each girl had highly made-up eyes, seeing as that was (supposed to be) the only aspect of them that was visible, and all walked with a quick, light step to show that they were nimble and feminine. As the final omega appeared and the line came to an end, at last, Otabek examined the final girl of the procession. She was pretty, with long blonde hair twisted up with a decorative chopstick and large, green eyes, which was enough to surprise Otabek. </p><p>The girl was extremely fair, if the dainty feet visible through her geta and the top third of her face were anything to go by, and that type of complexion wasn’t natural for Japan. Looking the way she did, the omega had to be foreign; but, then, Otabek had a sinking feeling, she wasn’t legally allowed to be held by a Japanese matchmaker-- she had to stay wherever she was born. </p><p>Otabek continued to watch the girl whose eyes were downcast, looking forlorn where everyone else was practically bubbling with vivacity. Immediately, another difference became apparent: where everyone else was highly made-up, the blonde didn’t appear to wear any makeup, and her place at the tail-end of the line was one of disgrace-- if Otabek remembered correctly, that was. What had she done? Was it because she was so obviously foreign? Or had she caused trouble?</p><p>Intrigued, Otabek continued to gaze at the girl as the gong sounded again and the alphas were allowed to speak with their potential omegas. And another, even more glaring, difference between the other omegas and the blonde came to light: where everyone else crowded the fence with fast, lithe movements, the blonde retreated from it, wandering over to a bench a ways away, walking with careful, measured, and comparatively slow, steps.</p><p>It intrigued Otabek to no end. The girl moved with the grace of a dancer and carried herself so, her back perfectly straight and her head held high even though she showed no interest in her surroundings. To Otabek, that was far more alluring than the eager, overzealous way the others rushed around.</p><p>Deciding that he wanted to know more about her and thinking that as, from the looks of it, the blonde would appreciate someone who was trying, not to court her, but to speak to her, during the time they were both forced to be there (for the blonde had rebuked every single attempt made by the alphas to be near her, for, like Otabek, they seemed to find her aloof, blase manner far more desirable than the silliness of the others), Otabek made his way over to the space of fence parallel to the blonde’s bench. He could see why she’d picked this seat in particular if she wanted (and she seemed to) to be left alone: the corresponding bench on Otabek’s side of the fence was broken, and, to converse comfortably with her, one would have to either stand or sit on the ground.</p><p>The blonde didn’t look up as Otabek approached, but said, in a hollow voice, as though reading from a script, “I’m not seeking a mate; I suggest that you look elsewhere.” The blonde’s voice was far deeper than Otabek had been expecting given the omega’s slight (going by the way the kimono hung around her lower legs and the fragile, birdlike ankles visible beneath it) physical appearance, though comparatively high next to Otabek’s. He was a boy, then, Otabek decided.</p><p>“Neither am I,” Otabek said, and the blond’s eyebrows furrowed, though he still didn’t look up, eyes fixed on something out of Otabek’s sightline behind the parasol. “Just someone to speak with to pass the time.”</p><p>Fine, near-translucent eyebrows rose, “You won’t find a pleasant conversation partner in me,” he replied, gaze still stubbornly downcast, “you might try your luck with someone higher in the procession, I guarantee that I’m not what you seek.”</p><p>“But I seek nothing,” Otabek tried again, battling with the disappointment growing in his chest as his attempts were rebuffed with the same stalwartness of the others’. “And it’s your place in the line that draws me to you,” (nevermind the list of preferable qualities in the blond to his counterparts that Otabek was growing by the second) Otabek continued, stumbling as he tried to remember the overly formal tongue used in Japanese matchmaking houses after so long in America, immersed in its ridiculous slang. “You must have done something undesirable to earn your place here, which I find far more interesting than living life a meek rule-follower, even if you are the first in the procession.”</p><p>The blond let out a small scoff, a grudging nod. “Undesirable is one word for it, yes,” he muttered, before he shook his head slightly, “you’re a frank one, aren’t you?” He asked Otabek, before sighing, “Fine, I concede your company; speak as you will.” And, at last, he raised his gaze to Otabek’s, and Otabek was dazzled by the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen. Large, incisive, and a striking emerald green, the eyes of this male omega all but struck Otabek dumb.</p><p>“What’s your name?” Otabek managed, somewhat gracefully, even if he lost the formality for a second.</p><p>“Yuri,” the blond -- Yuri, now -- replied. “And your own?”</p><p>“Otabek.” Otabek responded, “May I ask what you’ve done to be placed at the end of the line?” Maybe not the best opening remark; Otabek had never been good with people. Or words, for that matter-- his mother gloried in harping on about ‘that dreadful monotone of his’, every chance that she got.</p><p>“No.” Yuri’s voice was firm. “You may not. What brings you to this matchmaker’s house? I haven’t seen you before today.”</p><p>“My apologies,” Otabek said quickly, internally wincing. “I forget myself. After so long in America, I seem to struggle to recall Japanese manners, as brusque as they are on the continent. To answer your question, my mother has bidden me here while I visit her for the holidays; for as long as I have been an adult, she has shown a great aptitude for reproaching my noticeable lack of a mate.”</p><p>Yuri’s eyes narrowed slightly, “So you intend to take a mate?” He asked, though it sounded to anyone listening like a statement. “I’ve told you: if that’s your intention, you’re wasting your time with me. Look elsewhere.”</p><p>“I don’t intend to take a mate, you mistake me,” Otabek replied, “quite the opposite, actually: I’ve only come in hopes of procuring some peace during my holiday.”</p><p>Yuri nodded slowly, suspicion still weighting his gaze. “We’re quite a pair.” He said, after apparently mulling the information over. “But we fit together, so I suppose this will do. You said that you’re from America?” He asked, and his eyes sparkled.</p><p>“I am,” Otabek replied, “I’ve lived there for near a decade, now, and plan to return as soon as the new year dawns.” Yuri’s eyes widened considerably and Otabek thought that, had he been able to see it, Yuri’s lips would rest slightly apart in wonder.</p><p>“What is it like?” Yuri was quick to ask, apparently losing himself as his green eyes practically glowed. “I’ve heard many tales but I’ve never seen it for myself: is it as they say it is?”</p><p>“In what regard?” Otabek asked and proceeded to kick himself again as Yuri hesitated, knowing immediately what he wanted to know but didn’t dare to say. </p><p>America, and, by extension, the West, was, in comparison to Japan and the life Yuri must lead, heaven. In the US, Canada, and Britain, omega rights activists had finally achieved something that could almost be called equality. Omegas didn’t have to have their alpha with them to walk the streets; they could acquire help if they were being abused; they had every legal right of another secondary gender; and, most importantly, they could get <i>abortions</i> without their alpha’s knowledge or consent. It was a different world. A world Otabek was so, <i>so</i> thankful to belong to.</p><p>“Yes,” he said quietly. “It is exactly as they say it is-- better, even.”</p><p>Yuri hung on his every word, staring at him with unreserved longing in his eyes. “I had never thought it could be true.” He said quietly, “The idea seems fanciful.”</p><p>Otabek nodded, “It does.” He agreed, “But truthful, all the same.” Yuri didn’t speak for a moment and Otabek continued, “Where are you from? Might I ask? You don’t look as though you’re naturally Japanese.”</p><p>“Nor do you,” Yuri countered, his face closing off and the wonder concealing itself as walls went up behind his eyes.</p><p>“I was born and raised in Almaty, Kazakhstan,” a quirked eyebrow, “a former territory turned country of Russia,” Otabek elaborated. “My father was Kazakh but, upon his death, my mother returned the family to Hasetsu, her birthplace.”</p><p>Yuri nodded and considered a moment. “I’m natively Russian,” he said carefully, “but before you ask,” he eyed the look on Otabek’s face, mouth poised to question, “you will hear nothing from my lips of why I am in Japan, except that,” he paused, his gaze steely, “it is unequivocally legal.” His eyes fell once more, and he again stared at something Otabek could not see.</p><p>***</p><p>When Otabek left the matchmaker’s that day, he couldn't get Yuri out of his head. He’d been disappointed when the gong rang again, finding Yuri an exceedingly interesting conversation partner, and obviously hadn’t hidden it very well for Yuri had said, “Pretend not, it is a relief, I am sure, that you have fulfilled your obligation and now may resume your sojourn.” And had dutifully returned to his place at the end of the line, retreating back to the building at the end of the garden in that same, careful way of his.</p><p>Otabek had watched Yuri until the door to the building closed behind him, and had had to shake his head to rid himself of the tunnel vision to get back to Yuri that was fighting to take his senses. Under circumstances like these, he deplored the instincts belonging to the alpha he was born as; the inane urge to return to any remotely pleasant, unbonded omega he met and mark them as his own was normally relatively easily suppressed, and Otabek attributed his apparent <i>need</i> to return to Yuri’s side to having been in the company of so many unmated omegas for so long, confusing his alpha with their (muted, though they were) intermingled scents. </p><p>Still, though, even when Otabek returned to his mother’s modest home, he was unable to distract himself from the images of long, blond hair twisted up with a chopstick and reserved, privately twinkling green eyes haunting his mind. His mother said nothing when he entered the living room, but smiled knowingly and handed him a stack of cutlery to set their small table for dinner.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter 1 recap: we set the scene, get a glimpse of the life of an omega in Japan, and (viewed through Otabek's POV) meet Yuri-- the mysterious blond who is distinctively <i>not</i> Japanese-- for the first time.</p><p>(Wow, this chapter was 4K words-- that was not supposed to happen.)</p><p>I didn't make the connection, when writing that I would update on Tuesdays (I say, after having posted this on a Monday), that this would be posted on the US election day. That doesn't matter, though, because it is, and I hope that this chapter, just for a little while, can be a respite from the storm that is today and its inevitable aftermath. Stay safe, stay strong, and vote-- we're all in this together, even if you don't live in America. ♥</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Yuri didn’t like the other omegas; they were supposed to be a family, said the matchmakers, but he didn’t buy it. If he were to be totally honest, the atmosphere and inhabitants of the house bore a far greater resemblance to those of a high school than the family home the house was esteemed to be. Still, though, they played the part in front of the crowds and investors, (if the showings were ever attended by such) and, for the most part, people kept to themselves and the ones they had chosen to fight the isolation insanity with. They could <i>almost </i>play the happy family; but still, every family fought.</p><p>Jealousy was the biggest problem in the house, every inhabitant worth a cent or less aware that the strict portion regulation, the punishments, the <i>guards</i> held only the merest flicker of a candle to the damage that could be inflicted by an omega with just enough friends, just enough social influence, just enough admirers, to be powerful. In the house, whoever could charm the guards held the keys, and they never failed to dangle them <i>just</i> above the bars, <i>just</i> out of reach, giving <i>just</i> a small laugh as the other animals clawed at their cages, chasing a hope that was <i>so close, so near, so <b>fake.</b></i> Yuri had done that dance, too, once, at his first house, years ago, but had long given it up; the allure of favoritism, protection from the guards who were employed to protect <i>all</i> of the omegas, not just their favorites, having lost its shine, dulled and rotten to Yuri’s weary, weathered gaze. </p><p>Yuri wouldn’t jump: not for the guards, not for the alphas who pestered him at the showings, not for anyone. He’d jumped before, and look where that had gotten him. </p><p>He would watch, though, as the others leaped into the air, chasing the slivers of freedom that glinted, mirage-like, in this prison, and sigh vaguely when they succeeded, or, inevitably, at one time or another, fell back to Earth, stomach sucked in and bust heaving, rejected by a guard who had a fresher, prettier flower to prey on.</p><p>It always was their figures, Yuri would muse as he watched them coming onto the guards, the alphas who grinned wolf-like with their hot breath and wandering hands, sleazy glances and permanently askew uniforms; the omegas flaunted themselves as if they had nothing to lose and everything to gain from the one, falsely important factor that was their bodies. They all had something to lose, though, Yuri knew: they had <i>everything</i> to lose; Yuri was living proof of that. The subject to endless sets of wandering hands, hot breaths in his ear, whispered words of how he’d be the perfect companion on cold nights like these, if only… </p><p>What Yuri wouldn’t give to slap them away, to push them aside and tell them what he thought of them, their IQs, their prospects in life, their very <i>beings. </i></p><p>But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. He didn’t need that kind of trouble, and, ironically, the question really was what he <i>wouldn’t</i> give.</p><p>***<br/>
The showing over, first back through the door, Yuri positioned himself just beside it, shielded from view by the wall, and was mentally grateful that the guard stationed several feet away from him, Akari, was the one on duty. As they went, the guards were always handsy, but Akari was less aggressive than most, and at least wasn’t prone to spontaneous <i>squeezing</i> while an omega was doing a chore assigned to them by the house. Yuri was currently on parasol duty; he would be left alone. It was a relief; after spending nearly two hours engaged in stimulating, <i>intellectual</i> conversation about philosophy with the alpha from the showing, Otabek, Yuri wasn’t ready to return to his objectified role, just yet. </p><p>Of course, Yuri hadn’t exactly been <i>outspoken </i>during his and Otabek’s discussion, carefully subdued and submissive, as was vital at house showings: a far cry from what he used to be; but he had been bold enough to offer a theory from Plato that would contradict, if one truly knew the material, what Otabek had said. It was more than he’d usually dare-- <i>far </i>more than he’d even contemplate, but the allure of discovering that Otabek enjoyed philosophy, as well, after such a long drought of conversation on the topic, had overridden Yuri’s common sense momentarily, and he’d said it before he’d been able to stop himself. His petrified horror had only lasted a moment, though, for Otabek had been quick to dispel his fear that the alpha might take offense and report him to the head matchmaker (the worst-case scenario for any omega, but Yuri especially), chuckling and admitting that he had thought Yuri might bring that up, that it was a good point, that Otabek wondered if Yuri had read this specific writing--</p><p>And it had gone from there.</p><p>The gist, though, was that, after an academic conversation of the likes he hadn’t enjoyed for <i>years, </i>Yuri might slip up and allow himself to glare at a guard, or even flinch away from them, if he was suddenly assaulted by a hand on his ass. With Akari, that risk was eliminated.</p><p>Yuri accepted the umbrellas thrust his way with all the grace he could muster as the omegas trooped through the door, gracelessly throwing themselves into the more comfortable dormitories to warm up after the few hours spent outside in the early November air, trusting that, should their parasols be damaged in their haste to be rid of them and retreat to their beds, Yuri would mend them. If a bead was ripped off, a minuscule stitch pulled, or, god forbid, the fabric ripped, Yuri would fix it; it was one of his many, <i>many</i> duties at the house to care for the parasols, maintain their bright colors, intricate designs, and scores of tiny adornments. </p><p>The parasols were all beautiful, though it was true that the further down one looked, the plainer they became, and only Yuri’s own was drab and dull-- white, among a colorful, peacock crowd. Funny, really, if one shared a sense of humor with the matchmakers; in the Western world, white was a symbol of chastity; in Japan, death. </p><p>As, finally, <i>mercifully,</i> so the entryway’s heat would stop being sucked out into the evening air, the final omega, the first in the procession, entered the house, tossing her parasol carelessly in Yuri’s general direction (and Yuri would love dearly to punt it right back at the little bitch--), Yuri closed the door, tensing as the chilled wind slithered up the loose sleeve of his kimono, before beginning to inspect his wards.</p><p>There was a small room just off the main hallway (Yuri suspected that it had once been a coat closet) where Yuri worked. It was technically the weather-proof room the parasols were stored in, but, upon Yuri’s arrival, it was decided that the commons was no longer a sufficient space to inspect and alter the umbrellas, and a small table, a stool, and a dim lamp were added to the parasol room. </p><p>It took Yuri several trips to move the multitudes of embroidered umbrellas from the hall into the parasol room, given how immensely many omegas were imprisoned within the house, but it wasn’t painfully long before Yuri was kneeling (he found it easier to kneel than to use the tiny stool, nowadays; the thing was barely tall enough for him to bend his knees, let alone reach forward and work while sitting on) in the semi-darkness, straining his eyes to check the tiny stitching and intricate beadwork of the parasols laid gently out upon padded mats around him. Theoretically, he was allowed to have the door of the room propped ajar, just for the light of the hall, but Yuri preferred the near-darkness; it was more peaceful, lulling, and he was alone, safe from the prying, judging eyes of anyone and everyone who might cross the entryway.</p><p>It was long, tedious work, and eventually Yuri’s eyelids drooped, too tempted, as ever, to take a break on one of the padded mats, but he eventually set down the last parasol (his own) and heaved himself up from the floor, wincing as a spasm of pain shot through his back from the angle at which he’d been bent for so long. Waiting a moment for the feeling to return to his legs, hand against the wall for balance’s sake, Yuri switched off the orangey, sputtering lamp, returning to the entryway.</p><p>Yuri neglected to spare the rooms of the first rank a glance as he passed, making his way up the winding, multi-flight staircase; he didn’t need to see the plush pillows, thick blankets, and heated flooring, again, to know they were there and resent for the millionth time that he was what he was. His own dorms were in the attic, among the fifth rank, the worst of the worst, and were untouched by either the central heating system or any type of air conditioning in the summer, so Yuri was told. Yuri hated them.</p><p>Yuri made his way slowly up the stairs, unwilling to hurry only to be greeted with scorn and avoidance from the other omegas who roomed with him. The omegas of the house avoided Yuri like the plague, but, going on an only surface-level understanding of his situation, he wasn’t surprised, and what the matchmakers had doubtlessly said about him certainly couldn’t have helped matters.</p><p><i>It wasn’t my fault, </i>Yuri thought bitterly<i>, do you think I chose this? Any of this? </i></p><p>Yuri swung the door of his dormitory open and was greeted by what he knew and had come to expect: distrusting, reproachful stares; whispers, hushed among the bolder of the omegas, all but silent among the rest. Unlike the omegas of the first and second, sometimes even the third and fourth rank, those from the fifth weren’t outrightly cruel; taunting, teasing, throwing insults left and right in their pretty, melodic voices, wasn’t to their taste, used to the bullying, themselves; but none had ever spoken to Yuri, and they kept a policy of avoidance. Yuri didn’t mind; the less he was bothered, the better. Yuri wove through the omegas all around, relaxing incrementally when he finally reached his cot; he’d never liked crowds, even if this one was small enough that the name might not even apply, but especially now, Yuri loathed being so close to people-- it felt unsafe, to him. </p><p>Removing his geta by the side of the bed, neatly lining them up with the small chest containing his several different yukatas and his nightclothes at the foot of it, Yuri did his best not to wince as his bare feet touched the cold, wooden floor, and tensed as he shed his yukata and underlayers, pulling on his nightdress as quickly as he dared under the gazes he could feel boring into his spine. Clothes folded, hair braided, after a quick removal of the skin-colored patches stuck to his scent glands, Yuri burrowed under the covers, sinking further lower as a harsh draft of cold air pushed in from the window that never shut properly, tickling his exposed ears.</p><p>As the lowest of the low, Yuri got the sleeping place with the least climate control, and the beautiful view of treetops and the garden did nothing to make up for Yuri freezing in the late autumn chill.  </p><p>It was honestly a little ridiculous; how was the Russian, born and raised in Saint Petersburg, so sensitive to the cold? Yuri knew why, though, and knew that it had very little to do with him, to begin with, the reason his body heat was leeching away. And so, refusing valiantly to shiver, Yuri disappeared beneath his two thin blankets, and tried to sleep.</p><p>***</p><p>When Yuri woke the next morning, it was to a cramp in his lower back and a small spasming when he sat up in bed. Closing his eyes for a moment and clearing his face of expression, though no one was awake, yet, to see him, Yuri summoned the courage to swing his bare feet over the side of the mattress, and hastened to dress.</p><p>By the time he’d made his way downstairs, after suffering through his morning douse of the frigid water from the bathing jug (there were dormitory showers-- if they ever deigned to work, that was, and until the staff could be bothered to fix the frozen pipes of the fifth rank’s bathing quarters, they made do with the jug), his teeth had stopped chattering, and he was fairly sure that he was walking normally enough that any residual backache wouldn’t be obvious to the observer.</p><p>Of course, though, Mila’s eyes were those of a fucking hawk, and her keen gaze honed in on Yuri the second he entered the kitchen.</p><p>“Are you okay?” She asked, tone low as the house around them slumbered on, “You’re moving strangely.”</p><p>Yuri shrugged and crossed to the counter beside her, beginning to knead the dough she had left for him with stiff fingers. </p><p>If Yuri were to have a best friend in the house, Mila would be it; natively Russian but born in Japan, the redhead spoke both English and Japanese, and had been an invaluable asset to Yuri when he’d first joined the house, helping him decipher the words and remarks of those around him until he could adequately do so himself, even though no one else would come near him. Though she was of the first rank (the third in the procession), Mila wasn’t like the rest of the banshees around the house; kind, empathetic, and with a whiplash wit, Mila was the only one to whom Yuri had divulged the truth of his situation, and, even though her rank absolved her of otherwise-mandatory house chores, she had quickly offered (read: insisted) to help with Yuri’s. She was the only one Yuri could truly be himself around, unworried that she’d report his unruly tongue to a matchmaker, and he’d grown to care for her more than he could really afford to.</p><p>He didn’t know what he would do without her, once she was mated.</p><p>“I’m fine,” Yuri muttered briefly, taking the apron Mila handed him and tying it loosely around his waist; it bloused strangely and Yuri fought a sigh, smoothing it with his palm. “Sorry I’m late, I overslept.”</p><p>Mila shook her head, “Don’t be; you need the sleep more than I do. Why they make you deal with breakfast, I’ll never know.”</p><p>Yuri exhaled through his nose, but refrained from commenting. He knew why, knew that the matchmakers hated him, that his very presence at the house marred its perfect record, that they had been <i>forced </i>to take him, but dwelling on the injustice of it all would do him no good. </p><p>Mila, though, felt no reluctance to thoroughly bash the matchmakers, and the bitterness of her expression as she looked Yuri up and down inspired both stubborn affection and weary acceptance in Yuri. Maybe Mila was older than him, but she’d lived most of her life in a house; Yuri was her senior, even if years didn’t reflect it.</p><p>“You’re in pain,” Mila said suddenly, and Yuri internally cursed himself for allowing his face to go slack as he watched Mila’s mouth twist further. She was his greatest advocate, and, smart as she was, she had yet to grow used to the mistreatment Yuri encountered, enraged at every new sleight on him. “What is it? Your back?” She also knew Yuri better than anyone --<i> almost anyone</i> -- alive, and was too fucking observant for either of them. It was obnoxious.</p><p>“I’m fine, baba.” Yuri waved it away, shrugging as he smacked his rolling pin down on a particularly stubborn section of dough. “Just a run-of-the-mill ache.” There was really no point in lying to her: she always seemed to know when he was hiding something.</p><p>Mila’s eyes narrowed. “You have to tell me these things, Yuri!” Her reprimand was soft, still quiet enough not to disturb the sleeping house. “How can I help you if I don’t know what’s wrong?”</p><p>Yuri fought the urge to scowl, his temper flaring up; it was honestly a miracle that he hadn’t exploded, recently, with his already volatile emotions in chaotic disarray. “You don’t need to help me, at all,” he said firmly, “I’m fine; I manage.”</p><p>Mila, sensing that Yuri was fighting to maintain his calm facade (even though he didn’t have to, around her, but if he truly became upset, he was liable to start yelling, and while that was unequivocally <i>warranted,</i> he couldn’t do so when inside the house), dropped the subject, sighing lightly and covering Yuri’s cold-stiffened hand in her doughy one. </p><p>“But you don’t have to,” she reminded him gently, for this was one subject he was especially dense in. “Not alone. I’m here, Yuri; for the love of God, try to remember that.”</p><p>Yuri’s hand on the rolling pin stilled, his face the blank mask Mila had grown to know and hate so well. A nod, brief and curt. Mila squeezed his hand, and they went back to work.</p><p>***</p><p>Days at the house, for the omegas who resided within it, at least, were long, and, oftentimes, boring. With public showings on Thursdays, Fridays, and Mondays, and private ‘meetings’ held only by request on Saturdays and Tuesdays, there wasn’t much to do in the intervening time. Many of the omegas attended lessons between the aforementioned engagements, most of them on Sundays, as the entire day was devoid of outside contact, and these daily studies filled much of their free time, but Yuri (to his knowledge) alone was exempt from them. </p><p>Upon his arrival at the house, Yuri had taken comprehensive exams over all of the material traditionally taught in omega houses (knitting, obedience, etiquette, and culinary work among the demeaning, trivial skills for which there was instruction), and, having <i>lived</i> the contents of the exams, even the written ones, for the past two years, Yuri had passed with flying colors. He had almost thought that he’d be made to retake the classes solely for the purpose of torturing him, but had been proven wrong when he hadn’t been on the list of those called for any of the winter courses (they switched every season, so Yuri had heard); it seemed that the matchmakers wanted to keep him as isolated as possible, and that, with Yuri likely the only omega not attending instruction, the risk of camaraderie developing amongst him and anyone else was drastically reduced. In the end, it hadn’t mattered much, none of the omegas wanting anything to do with Yuri of their own accord, but it left him with a lot of extra time to fill. </p><p>In this respect, most of the other omegas, all with significantly less free time than Yuri (even after his seemingly-endless list of chores was complete) took to hanging out with their friends in (if they were of the first through third rank) their dorms, or (more common of the fourth and fifth ranks, whose dorms were terribly inhospitable) the commons, gossiping the inane chatter they never seemed to run out of and playing with their appearances, speculating whether Alpha A or Alpha B would prefer a smoky eye look or a glittery rainbow. The top tier of the elite, though, (the first five in the procession) had better things to occupy their time.</p><p>They took command of the only room in the house that truly connected it to the modern age: the guards’ room. Strictly out-of-bounds for all those but the guards’ favorites, the break room played host to a flatscreen TV, three desktop computers, and, if rumors were to be believed (they were; Mila had told him) several gaming consoles with programs galore. It was the most highly-coveted location in the entire house, (perhaps, maybe, the bedrooms of the first rank) and one of the only rooms in the house that, once inside, could enable one to forget that they were in a matchmaking house, at all. According to Mila, that was.</p><p>The break room was made even more special by the fact that, on the whole, the house possessed very few electronics, exempting the necessities. There were showers (if they currently worked), bathrooms segregated by rank (and thank <i>god</i> those always worked), and a fully functioning kitchen known to those who were assigned food-prep chores or cooking classes; but beyond the whisperings of the guards’ room, and the knowledge that there <i>must</i> be a computer in the matchmakers’ rooms (for no omega had ever gone within their chambers in living memory), the omegas of the house were effectively isolated from the outside world, and, by extension, the 21st century. There was electricity, yes, but there were no TVs available to them; there was running water, but there were no electronics or entertainment materials of any kind. There were lavatories, but there were no phones (landlines or cellular) known or available to the omegas of the house. At times, Yuri forgot that there was an entire world out there, his months in the house acting on him quickly, and even after reminding himself of the cell phone he’d once had, the countless jets as a passenger of which he’d traversed the globe, it was hard, sometimes, to shake the feeling that he was stuck in the past, centuries distant from the life he’d once known.</p><p>The remoteness of it all, though, didn’t much affect Yuri’s leisure time-- if, between his multitudinous chores, he had any significant amount of it. Laying no claim to any friendship besides that of Mila, who he forced to all but ignore him around others so as to preserve her social status, and object of the majority of the house gossip, alienated from all, Yuri spent the majority of his days in the gardens, braving the chill for solitude. Though, he could admit to himself, he hadn’t experienced <i>true</i> solitude for months.</p><p>Yuri walked the winding paths of the grounds on autopilot, his feet taking him wherever their whims led as his head floated among the clouds. No specific thoughts were formulated, but vague, pleasant notions flitted aimlessly around his head, the likes of which he could only ever grasp outside, or in his closet. So free in his mind as he was, so lost to the world around him, too late was it that Yuri realized where he’d arrived.</p><p>He returned to his senses with a jolt not entirely caused by the chilled stone on which he sat as he gazed out over the Koi pond. He was sitting on the bench used for showings; the bench he had spoken to Otabek on-- the bench <i>visible from the road.</i></p><p>Yuri lurched up, overbalancing briefly in his haste, and with his breath speeding up in his alarm, he realized the most damning aspect of his situation; not only was he out of bounds, visible to any travelers on the road through town at an hour when it was strictly prohibited, but Yuri <i>didn’t have his parasol.</i> Parasols were mandatory for all omegas viewed by the public, the only exceptions being the omegas who had already been claimed by an alpha and were therefore off of the market, but the parasols were more important in Yuri’s case than any other-- he hated to think what would be done to him if he was found here without one. </p><p>Yuri steadied himself with a hand placed on the rough-hewn stone, and turned his back to the road, something akin to survival instincts setting in and implementing the only damage-control procedure he could rush to come up with. Not quickly, for overly hasty movement had become difficult and would doubtlessly draw attention from any passerby (not that Yuri dared to turn around and look to see if there were any), but as swiftly as he dared, Yuri began to move back to the hidden trail from which he had emerged, trusting the foliage to hide his shape from dangerous, alpha eyes.</p><p>Yuri had almost made it, the cover of the trees mere feet away, when, </p><p>“Yuri?” Yuri went dead still, every fiber of his being immobile as his heart sputtered to a halt. Someone had seen him; someone had seen him and would tell a matchmaker, and while, in his first house, Yuri had broken every rule he had come across, he couldn’t afford to do that anymore. He had too much at stake. Too much to lose. <i>Literally.</i></p><p>Yuri wanted to run, to disappear into the brush, to evade punishment for as long as possible, but-- but the person knew his name. And Yuri knew that voice. </p><p>“Is that you?”</p><p>And right about now, Yuri was thanking any deity that existed that all the questioner could see of him was his flowing, silk kimono, and was grateful to God (although it probably had much more to do with the matchmakers’ strict portion regulation than divine intervention) that he still had such a slim waist. If the angle was right, and Yuri thought it was, what mattered wouldn’t be seen.</p><p>“Who inquires?” Yuri asked, his posture stiff, straight, his lungs feeling as though they were about to explode as he fought to keep his distress unapparent and his breathing regular.</p><p>“It’s Otabek,” the voice hesitated, something of the slight shyness Yuri had noticed before returning to it. “From yesterday’s showing? I recognized you by the chopstick in your hair-- and, well, there aren’t many blonds in the house.”</p><p>Yuri resisted the urge to touch the ornately carved, decorative chopstick that held his bun in place-- it had a cat’s silhouette carved into the top, and had been a gift from his grandfather. It was his prized possession.</p><p>“Yes,” Yuri said, the formality that might well keep him safe (well, as safe as one could ever be, in a matchmaker’s house) switched on through muscle memory, alone. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must--”</p><p>“Wait,” Yuri hadn’t moved a muscle, but they coiled tighter at the word. “I’m sorry to keep you, but I was wondering if I might return to the showing, tonight-- seek your company? My mother remains unpacified,” Otabek said in a rush, as though nervous (and why was he nervous, anyway? It wasn’t as though Yuri could outrightly reject him without risking punishment) “and has bidden me here, once more.”</p><p>Yuri was on autopilot; he was functioning on the politeness and propriety ingrained into him with a fine-toothed precision for the last several years of his life; he said what needed to be said to be polite, and to, hopefully, escape. </p><p>“Of course-- I look forward to it.”</p><p>(Flattery always helped to shut someone up.)</p><p>“Excellent,” Otabek’s voice sounded relieved, the reasoning behind which observation Yuri would later question, but right now, he waited just long enough to bid a satisfactory farewell, before striding away into the safety of the foliage so near him.</p><p>It was only once Yuri had reached the house, safe from the gaze of anyone who was not an omega peeking out of the window of the commons, that Yuri came to his senses, realizing exactly what had just happened, what he’d just agreed to. </p><p><i>Well,</i> he thought in a grudging, silver lining sort of way, <i>at least he’s less likely to report me if he’s coming back to the showing, tonight.</i></p><p>***</p><p>Otabek tried not to watch as Yuri strode away; he did, but something about his alpha shrieking at him to follow the omega’s retreating form and the way Yuri’s kimono swayed in the breeze just so… well, it could undermine the noblest of ambitions. Otabek had been correct in his earlier theory that Yuri was thin, he couldn’t help but notice as Yuri moved away: the man was tiny, with delicate wrists, a ridiculously small waist, and a long, slim column of a neck. From this angle, though, Otabek noticed something he hadn’t before; pale and faded, as though it had been broken, a bond mark shone on Yuri’s neck.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So, I have another question. In this story, there's a lot of, for lack of a better word, internal monologues (some are just occupational hazards of reading my works; we all know that I <i>love</i> some good internal thoughts) to set the scene and describe the world. As a rule, this should be avoided in creative writing, especially in opening chapters, but a lot of it is necessary to understand this story the extent needed to enjoy it. So I ask, is it boring for you? You can be honest (assuming that you'll answer in the comments); I won't be offended. I genuinely wonder whether there's too much world-building-- do you feel like you would understand without the longer passages? Do you wish there was more of it? Are you happy as it is? I want to hear it! So, if you would like to, comment and share your thoughts with me!</p><p>Comments and kudos are the air authors breathe; leave some if you wish to! ♥</p><p>(Sorry, I forgot to put this in last week's chapter): <b>NEXT UPDATE ON NOVEMBER 10TH.</b></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter 2 recap: Yuri and Mila converse, some light is shed on Yuri's situation and house life in general. Later, Yuri meets Otabek after accidentally venturing ou-of-bounds, and, as he leaves, Otabek sees the mark of a broken bond on his neck.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Yuri let himself drift gently around the edges of sleep, thoughts hazy and unfocused, only partially formed before he lost the brainpower to pursue them, but ultimately pleasant. He didn’t intend to fall asleep, only hoping to shut his eyes against the glaring daylight for a moment and put his feet up. Instead, he awoke sharply to the slamming of the dormitory door, and his eyes shot open. How long had he been asleep?</p><p>“There you are,” Mila strode across the dormitory. Her yukata billowed gracefully behind her, red hair flying as she approached where Yuri lay, nestled somewhere between sitting and lying down, on his bed. “Have you been up here all this time? Dammit, Yuri, the showing’s about to start!”</p><p>Yuri froze, blood congealing in his veins, and then leaped up, veins flooding with electric energy; he ignored the stiffness in his shoulders no doubt fostered by his strange choice in resting position, and was at Mila’s side in the middle of the dormitory in moments, shoving his geta clumsily onto his feet. Mila waited no longer than it took for Yuri to safely be wearing his shoes before grabbing his wrist and yanking him after her, hair fiery and movements fluid in the flurry of motion; they hurried down the stairs, taking the steps far more quickly than was advisable when taking into account the precarious footwear they wore and the lose fabric swishing around their ankles, ready to trip them if they gave it time to. In her haste, Mila shot down the winding staircase, dragging Yuri, locked in an iron grip, behind her as they darted through doorways and corridors and choppy turns, all of the usual kid gloves Mila wore while handling Yuri gone in her anxiety. Yuri couldn’t blame her; Mila had risked being late, herself, in finding him, and if she, as one of the first rank, showed up to the pre-showing inspection, her demonstration would be worse than the punishment Yuri knew they would both receive. </p><p>This, though, was avoided as they dashed through the unoccupied kitchen and skidded into place before the grand doors, straightening their backs just as the head matchmaker left her office. Their faces were flushed, their lungs burning, sweat drying quickly on the back of their necks, and the matchmaker squinted menacingly at them as she passed; her gaze narrowed further when she came upon Yuri, but, through her lack of comment, Yuri inferred that this was just due to her general disdain of him more than dissatisfaction with his appearance. She probably put down the crimson staining his cheeks to be a good thing, breathing hints of life into his custom pallor.</p><p>Inspection of her merchandise complete, said merchandise deemed acceptable for showing, the matchmaker shot one last glance over the omegas before returning to her office, the stumpy, little woman’s cold eyes sending waves of ice down their collective spines as she went.</p><p>The gong sounded and with relief Yuri opened his parasol, glad to hide his flushed cheeks and wrinkled yukata from view, waiting patiently at the end of the procession as he fought to steady his breathing. He couldn’t help thinking, as he stepped into the chilly air, the recently departed pink immediately returning to his pale cheeks, that Lilia would be horrified to see how out of shape he’d become. Even during the first of his continuing years without dance, he hadn’t been <i>this</i> unhealthy, at least possessing the opportunity to remain somewhat fit-- an opportunity that all but evaporated once Yuri reached the matchmaking house, his special circumstances dwindling his odds of staying strong.</p><p>As he began his descent through the gardens, gaze mostly obscured by the winding, serpentine line of bodies before him and the foliage all around, Yuri lifted a hand surreptitiously to his bun, feeling the blond strands twisted around the dark, wooden chopstick in the center, slanting diagonally through greasy, if slightly frizzy, locks. There were a few flyaways that Yuri could feel, and a strand or two of gold curled around his eyes, but by his inspection he wasn’t anywhere near the disheveled state he feared himself to have assumed, and if the matchmaker hadn’t remarked on his appearance, he was reasonably certain that he would be fine for the showing. He never got too much attention, anyway, quick as he was to rebuff the attempts of the alphas to be near him, so he doubted that his less than precise appearance would be noticed, or at least that it would be remarked upon. </p><p>Yuri’s eyes focused again as he came to halt at the end of the line, jerking himself from the middle distance into which he had gazed the entirety of the trek down through the gardens; it could be interpreted as rude if he didn’t at least send a cursory glance over the alphas stationed outside of the gate. Yuri was in the middle of it when a face -- and its accompanying scent -- distracted him from finishing.</p><p>Green tea and ginger swirled lightly in the air, the pheromones distinctive enough for Yuri’s gaze to snap to their owner. It was a strange scent for an alpha, Yuri thought as he met Otabek’s gaze, averting his eyes quickly so as not to appear promiscuous or confrontational; the fragrances themselves were an odd combination, seeming as though they shouldn’t work together as well as they did, but it was the fact that it was so light a scent, that made the all the difference. Most alphas proudly boasted (in both senses of the word) sharp, bitter scents, the kind that made Yuri’s head pound and his brain slow, incapacitated by the abrasiveness of the smell, and, correspondingly, its owner. This was a gentle aroma, though, and it did nothing to Yuri’s head or mind past a soft buzzing, a light, indistinguishable pleasantness permeating his thoughts, but even that could be beaten away easily enough, if he tried-- there was nothing forceful there. It was a scent Yuri had smelled twice before, had examined similarly on both instances, and one that Yuri had thoroughly forgotten would be attending today’s showing.</p><p>The second gong sounded and Yuri drifted as he always did to the bench by the Koi pond, cognizant of the shadow following his motions on the other side of the fence, and gazed upon the fish as they shimmered and darted within the artificially heated water. </p><p>Otabek offered Yuri a small, hesitant smile from across the fence. “I’m sorry to impose upon your time, again,” he said, “I believe I explained when we met earlier today that my mother retains her skillfulness in the art of discontentment, and that I’ve been driven to return to return here, as she has formed the impression that there is a ‘special girl’ waiting for me.” He smiled ruefully.</p><p>“I would appreciate it extremely if you refrained from any mention of this morning,” Yuri replied steadily, consciously keeping his voice soft and submissive as he made the request. “We aren’t permitted to speak to others except during the showings, you see.” And deflect the blame-- that normally worked with unshakeable suitors, and Yuri now thought it wise to employ the tactic in his (hopefully unnoticeable) reprimand. Otabek didn’t seem the type to become offended at disagreement or assumed impertinence, as Yuri had learned through their philosophy conversation of the day prior, but Yuri couldn’t afford to place that trust in anyone outside of Mila, who had proven herself several times over to be a loyal and willing ally.</p><p>“Of course,” Otabek said, nodding, “my apologies.” And then, appearing slightly nervous in the way Yuri had noticed he did -- the slightest wrinkle in his eyebrow, a twitch down at the mouth, eyes held just a bit wider than he normally seemed to -- he added, as though to clarify something, “I hope that you don’t mind my company, again today; I found it quite unavoidable.”</p><p>“I shouldn’t say I mind even if it were true,” Yuri returned, cordial in the extremes he couldn’t allow himself to abandon. Then, seeing a nearly imperceptible flicker of <i>something</i> in Otabek’s eye, the slightest twitch in his eyebrow, Yuri added, “though I can’t say I do mind. It’s pleasurable to have pensive company, for a change-- a conversation partner, if you will.”</p><p>Otabek nodded, and Yuri thought he could make out a hint of relief in the otherwise neutral lines of his face. “Likewise; it’s refreshing to converse with someone of a mutual understanding and position,” Yuri did not quirk an eyebrow (though he wanted to); they’d discussed philosophy, yesterday, but he had been careful to play his personal beliefs close to the chest, speaking in broad terms only. Yuri settled for an apathetic nod, in response. “What are your thoughts on the works of Christine de Pizan?” Otabek continued, and gave Yuri pause.</p><p>He had been to college, yes, and, while he had taken a philosophy course, it had only been for a Gen. Ed requirement; he <i>did</i> find the subject interesting, but he didn’t claim to know much about it. He was years out of practice, in any case, and hadn’t been able to discuss specific philosophers since he’d presented (late), just under two years ago. While de Pizan’s name certainly rang a bell… he didn’t think he’d be able to bullshit his way through an in-depth discussion akin to yesterday’s on nothing more than a faint inkling.</p><p>“I struggle to recall,” Yuri said after a moment’s consideration, thankful that his face was covered and Otabek couldn’t see anything of the flames licking his cheeks; he felt so <i>stupid.</i> “I haven’t discussed any philosopher beyond Aristotle in a number of years.” </p><p>Aristotle had only been discussed at all because he had been thrown in Yuri’s face by his first-ever matchmaker, a silly woman who had used the Greek’s justification for natural rule over ‘incomplete souls’ as a way to keep Yuri in line. It hadn’t worked, not by a longshot, Yuri immediately throwing a few choice quotes from Wollstonecraft, Beauvoir, and Astell back in the bitch’s face, but she hadn’t understood them (shocker), so Aristotle had technically been his last conversation-- if it could even have been called that.</p><p>“Oh,” Otabek said, apparently uncomfortable, “we can discuss something different, if you prefer, or I can help refresh your memory-- I’m sure you’ll have heard of her; she was a cornerstone for omega rights in the West.” </p><p>Yuri nodded hesitatingly, interest to hear about this woman overpowering his anxiety to be openly discussing omegist philosophers. He comforted himself in the thought that none of the others around them would comprehend a word of their conversation, anyway, their thought processes so inane. “Thank you, I’d appreciate that.”</p><p>Otabek gave a small smile, “I live to serve.”</p><p>It was only momentary, the control Yuri possessed over his features quickly stifling it, but Yuri’s face darkened at the statement. </p><p>
  <i><b>You </b>do?</i>
</p><p>Before Yuri could sidestep his infraction, though, Otabek spoke, apparently having noticed Yuri’s brief lapse in poise. “Sorry,” he said softly, apparently deeply regretful, “I didn’t think.” </p><p>The expression he wore would have, on another, convinced Yuri of shallow insincerity, but on Otabek, it was different, his face showing earnest repentance breaking past a mask of neutrality instead of the thin veneer of faux-apology that Yuri so often saw. The two views were similar, and yet endlessly different. </p><p>“Your apology isn’t warranted;” Yuri said, poised and cordial but hoping to communicate with a marginally softer tone, “it’s not my place to be offended, in any case.”</p><p>Otabek frowned a bit, “If offense is warranted then it should be received, and in this case, it is most completely warranted.”</p><p>Yuri eyed the alpha before him keenly, sizing him up. He really was an odd one. Perhaps his gaze communicated this sentiment, for he found Otabek’s cheeks warming just slightly beneath Yuri’s examination. Stifling the urge to grin and mutter a tease at the alpha the way he would with Mila (and why would he feel the urge, to begin with? The two situations were <i>vastly </i>different), Yuri allowed himself a short nod, before broaching the chosen topic, once more.</p><p>“As you were explaining,” Yuri inclined his head slightly, returning to the (marginally, all things considered) safer conversation. “Christine de Pizan?”</p><p>Otabek blinked. He nodded. He opened his mouth to speak. The warm tinge did not fade.</p><p>***</p><p>Similarly to the first time, the two hours of the showing just sort of… passed, and the deep resonating of the gong took both Yuri and Otabek by surprise, Yuri looking up to see the other omegas of the garden flocking already to line up before the gate.</p><p>“Thank you once more for indulging me in such a pleasurable conversation and for lending me your presence, today.” Otabek said as Yuri stood from the bench.</p><p>Yuri nodded, and the briefest, vaguest hint of a smile touched his lips and the corners of his eyes. “Of course.” Yuri replied, repressing the urge to add that he had enjoyed it, as well, and staged his retreat to the procession without any more said. He couldn’t help the feeling that Otabek’s eyes were on him, all of the way back up the garden, and when he turned around at the doors to the house, careful to keep his parasol before him and obscuring his frame, he just caught sight of Otabek’s dark undercut through the foliage between them.</p><p>***</p><p>It was Saturday afternoon and Yuri drifted through the gardens, taking advantage of the abnormally warm day to soak up the last rays of sunshine and ponder in solitude. He had <i>known</i> that he’d heard of de Pizan, just hadn’t been able to put his finger on where from, and the ensuing discussion about her with Otabek had proven to be food for thought. It made Yuri wonder how Otabek would feel about the Wife of Bath from Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales-- surely, he’d appreciate her comic relief and the omegist sentiments her banter entailed, but Yuri felt sure that his comments on the matter would be just as interesting as the work itself. </p><p>Yuri had just entered into what would likely become one of his many, <i>many</i> one-sided conversations about literally anything (this one about the aforementioned character and her role in political literature) when his solitude met an abrupt end. Mila plopped unceremoniously down on the end of the bench upon which Yuri sat (this particular bench far from the road and unused during showings, such as the extent of its obscurity by foliage), dropping her head on his shoulder and leaning her entire body weight into him.</p><p>Rolling his eyes, Yuri pushed her futilely, not really making an effort to dislodge her from her perch, before, after several moments of expectant silence, he bent to the hag’s whims. “What, baba?” He asked, scowling at her freely and glorying in the pseudo-autonomy exhibited in the expression.</p><p>Mila let out a long, dreamy sigh before propping herself up to stare Yuri in the eyes, her chin on his shoulder. It couldn’t be a comfortable position, Yuri was sure, given that Mila was taller than him in height as well as longer than him in the torso, and that she was going slightly cross-eyed in the effort of meeting Yuri’s less-than-enthused gaze. But, long-used to the lengths to which Mila would go for theatrical emphasis, Yuri simply stared her down until her sigh had run its course and she became ready to bestow on him whatever grand proclamation she currently laid claim to. The shit he put up with, honestly.</p><p>“Have you ever,” Mila began, and Yuri knew from the look on her face that nothing good could come of this, “met someone and just… clicked?” </p><p>Yuri blinked owlishly at her. “Yes,” he said slowly, deeply thoughtful, “there was this lizard the one time…” Mila smacked him lightly on the arm and Yuri snorted. “No, Mila: I have never encountered any ‘love at first sight’ bullshit.” Distractedly, deep within the recesses of his mind, he wondered whether love at first sight could reasonably be called a philosophy, and, if so, what Otabek’s views on it might be.</p><p>Mila hummed thoughtfully, some of her silliness falling away. “I don’t know for sure if I have, but I certainly found a good second place if I haven’t.” </p><p>Yuri didn’t even try to hide his groan. “Oh, baba, no. Not this again.”</p><p>Mila grinned wickedly, “You don’t even know what I’m going to say!” They both knew that Yuri knew <i>exactly</i> what she was going to say.</p><p>“Let me guess,” Yuri said sarcastically, “one of your many suitors has shown possession of more than one brain cell and now you want to have his babies?”</p><p>Mila cackled. “Maybe, and I do not! Jeez, mister philosopher, I thought omegism was supposed to preach that omegas thought of <i>more</i> than just sex and babies?” </p><p>Yuri growled. </p><p>“Yes, though,” Mila continued brightly, unmerciful as ever, “but this one’s different! He was actually really polite and didn’t even <i>mention</i> bonding! He said he just wanted to get to know me.”</p><p><i>Like that line hasn’t been used a hundred times,</i> Yuri thought but didn’t voice it.</p><p>“Why are you always doing this?” Yuri grumbled, instead, “every week, I swear. You know that all the alphas are trash, so why pretend they’re actually decent?” <i>Most</i> of the alphas were trash. Only the ones looking for mates. </p><p>“What?” Mila laid precariously down on the bench, head pillowed on the very edge Yuri’s knees. “Can you blame me? It’s not like there’s anything else to do in this place besides gossip about <i>true love</i> and <i>soulmates; </i>you should hear the crap the idiots in the first rank spout. Besides, it’s not like I can talk <i>philosophy</i> with a brainiac like you.” Yuri rolled his eyes (when in his life had he ever been called a <i>brainiac?)</i> but, as if suddenly hit by a great revelation, Mila’s own widened and she sat up abruptly, nearly falling off the bench in her haste. Yuri snorted a laugh as she scrambled to remain on the chilly stone, but Mila paid her near encounter with mortal peril and, shudder, <i>wet leaves,</i> no mind. “Speaking of philosophy,” she said, sliding over to Yuri’s side smoothly, as if she hadn’t just flailed for her life, “have you finally found someone to discuss it with? I couldn’t help but notice,” and the batting of her eyelashes was <i>so</i> innocent, “that you’re finally letting an alpha get near enough to you to talk. Found a fellow scholar, have you?” Her eyes twinkled.</p><p>Yuri rolled his own. “Otabek only came because his mother won’t leave him alone about a mate-- <i>yes,</i> we discussed philosophy, but that was it.”</p><p>Mila’s face lit up, like a cat who’d gotten the cream. “So you admit it!” She said triumphantly, “you’ve tolerated an alpha for more than thirty seconds! He’s very handsome-- is he looking for a mate?”</p><p>Mila’s maniacal grin widened when Yuri’s cheeks tinted pink at her comment. It was just the cold.</p><p>“No,” Yuri said firmly, and something very real inside of him squirmed. “I told you, he’s just here to get his mother off his back-- and besides, he’s going back to the States in two months.”</p><p>Mila shrugged, flippant. “There’s no harm in checking out all of the options.”</p><p>Yuri’s expression darkened, his gaze falling. “Yes,” he said, firm and soft. “There is.”</p><p>Mila’s face fell and her gaze found the object of Yuri’s own. She squeezed his hand, her voice quiet, repentant. “Sorry.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>In this story, omegism is essentially feminism, and therefore major feminist philosophers have been converted into <i>omegist</i> philosophers-- it's not that big a difference; just substitute the terms as a general rule for deciding if a certain philosopher would be omegist, in the case of confusion.</p><p>Thanks to my friends on the Superfan Discord server for helping me with the philosophy-- it's just me to write a story that heavily incorporates philosophy with the knowledge that I possess none on the subject. You guys are lifesavers!</p><p>Comments and kudos help the world go around, so any are appreciated! ♥</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter 3 recap: Otabek and Yuri meet for the second time, Otabek again giving the excuse of 'mother' (anyone else getting <i>Psycho</i> vibes from that? Just me? Huh.) for their meeting. While they talk, Otabek jokes that <i>he</i> lives to serve, which is obviously insulting to Yuri who literally lives to cater to the whims of alphas, and, when Yuri shows a negative reaction, Otabek insists on apologizing, doing so even when Yuri says (in so many words) that he never has to apologize to Yuri. More of Yuri's backstory is revealed and he Mila banter in the garden of the house when she tells him she's met a new alpha and teases him to pursue Otabek because "what could it hurt?". Yuri goes quiet and she apologizes, because they both know what it could hurt (and a lot of you have great guesses!).</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Otabek wasn’t going to come to the next showing. Yuri knew that. Otabek would be lounging on a beach somewhere along the coastline just barely visible from the grounds of the house, gulls white, sparkling specks in a clear, blue sky, and waves lapping lazily in the foreground. Yuri also knew that the weather of late, in typical early-November fashion, had been cold and dreary, rain a constant, light mist hovering over the ground, waiting with the winds and the damp to chill any stupid, outdoorsy soul to the bone. Still, though, Yuri’s half-formed, quickly ignored wonderings of which particular way Otabek was luxuriating in his holiday didn’t seem to take into account the fact that, inhabiting the same town, they shared the weather. No, while Yuri shivered and pulled his yukata more tightly around him at mealtimes, Otabek laid out on a brightly lit beach, staring not into grey, snow-laden clouds, but a bright, unmarred sky, the sun blazing heat down upon him. </p>
<p>Perhaps this was a subconscious association borne from the desperation Yuri’s subconscious felt to remind him that his interactions with Otabek were no more; it made sense, as Yuri concluded after several hours of sitting on his hidden bench in the depths of the gardens, exploring the murky recesses of his own mind, that pairing Otabek with Bahama-esque surroundings and Yuri with his own, dreary ones would help enforce their separation in his mutinous thoughts. Help establish to the part of Yuri’s omega that had been pacing and clawing within him for the past few days, that Otabek would not return to a house showing, his obligations fulfilled. </p>
<p>He wouldn’t be discussing philosophy in that deep, velvety undertone of his. He wouldn’t be anything more than a distant, removed memory, from this point on. He wouldn’t be waiting outside of the gate as Yuri trooped dutifully down through the gardens on Monday’s showing.</p>
<p>He was.</p>
<p>Yuri’s mask of poise never faltered: not as he lined up; not as the gong sounded and he made his way to his usual, removed perch by the Koi pond; not as Otabek followed him. Yuri brought up the Wife of Bath, Otabek agreed that her character was very important to early omegist ideas, and neither dared to mention that Otabek, for all intents and purposes, didn’t belong at the showing. That he wasn’t supposed to be sitting across from Yuri, again, discussing crude, deceptively wise, female characters, without a care in the world. When they parted ways, it was close to normal (if Yuri could pretend there <i>was</i> any semblance of normal, anymore; if he dared to let himself) and the small, nagging worry seeded deep within Yuri grew when he saw Otabek waiting behind the gate that Thursday; when he didn’t feel remotely surprised; when he refused to admit to himself that he’d become something dangerously close to expectant.</p>
<p>Their conversations were interesting; Yuri never failed to enjoy them, and even when they ventured tentatively (almost equally so on both parts, though Yuri failed to find anything Otabek could be worried about in regards to him) from the safe zone philosophy had grown to become, Yuri found himself eager to keep talking. Slowly, incrementally, little tidbits about Otabek’s life were slipped into their discussions, too. </p>
<p>There was a small bruise on his hand where he’d managed to smack himself with something described to Yuri as a meat mallet which he could make no sense of, but that had apparently yielded enough damage that the space between Otabek’s thumb and forefinger was several shades yellower than it should have been. Otabek had received a call from a business associate; creative people were difficult to work with, according to an offhand comment he hadn’t even seemed to notice making, and the company Otabek ran (from what Yuri could gather of it) dealt with an awful lot of them. Sorry Otabek was late, he’d been tasked with retrieving his sister’s cat (the sister who he had apparently been visiting frequently, now he was back in town) from the top of the tallest of her kitchen cabinets, and the claw marks on the shoulder of his leather jacket spoke volumes of Otabek’s success in the mission. To his credit, his wince wouldn’t be noticeable to most when he raised his right arm. </p>
<p>This last, carefully procured tidbit, specifically, drew Yuri’s interest. Enough so, that, perhaps with enough careful strategy employed, he might deem it acceptable to ask a follow-up question.</p>
<p>“That’s good of you,” Yuri began, thinking it wise to remark on Otabek’s understated account of his undoubtedly heroic pursuits in feline aid. “I imagine your sister was grateful.”</p>
<p>Otabek snorted lightly, “That would be one way to put it,” he said, shaking his head, fond, “she was greatly amused by her cat’s attitude toward me, and proceeded to dote on him  while directing me to the rubbing alcohol and bandages.” Yuri’s lips quirked slightly up. “Her priorities are certainly <i>interesting,</i> but she expressed her thanks by saving me from her daughter’s favorite Dora episode for the seventh time on repeat, so I think her debt is paid.”</p>
<p>Quashing the faint tickle of amusement deep within him, Yuri asked, as animated as he thought acceptable, “How old is she?”</p>
<p>“Five,” Otabek replied fondly, “and about as innocent as the cat. The big blue eyes only go so far-- they’re demons underneath, the both of them.”</p>
<p>Yuri allowed the corners of his eyes to crinkle, just slightly. It was only necessary to convey (within reasonable limits) his amusement. “I’m sure,” he hoped his marginally more playful tone indicated that he was not, in fact, sure, and actually just joking. He hadn’t done that at a showing before, and wasn’t quite sure how to approach it. He hadn’t done it <i>at all,</i> in years, and with Mila (his only outlet of opinion and personality) he was far less subdued-- in the matters of levity and irritation, alike. “May I ask what type of cat, I believe you said he, is? Blue eyes aren’t common to many breeds.” The follow-up question had been attained! Not the smoothest transition, but Yuri had expressed interest in the child, so that would probably help. </p>
<p>Judging by the look on Otabek’s face, Yuri’s first even vaguely personal question did not go unnoticed. He blinked before saying, just slightly too quickly in that odd way of his, “Um, I’m not quite sure. Fluffy, though. His name is Champagne-- it’s supposed to be funny because it’s more elegant than beer, which has something to do with his breed, but I can’t remember exactly what.”</p>
<p>A quiet moment. Yuri thought.</p>
<p>“Is it possible that he’s a Birman cat?” Yuri guessed after a second’s contemplation, blond eyebrows raising just slightly. “They’re quite long-haired-- blue eyes, as well.”</p>
<p>Otabek nodded. “He’s white, mainly, with black paws and nose; is that typical of Birman cats?”</p>
<p>Yuri nodded, and Otabek paid <i>no attention</i> to the way his eyes seemed to glint-- more brightly than they normally did. He was always reserved, carefully poised in the way that made Otabek’s alpha upset for whatever reason, but, and though Yuri was careful <i>never</i> to express emotion beyond polite interest, so far as Otabek could tell, Yuri’s eyes glowed just a bit brighter when they discussed things Otabek thought he enjoyed. Yuri liked cats, it seemed, and Otabek made note of that, storing it away with the rest of the things Yuri glowed at to bring up again, later.</p>
<p>“To my knowledge,” Yuri nodded, and, softly, but not to the extent that Otabek thought he wasn’t supposed to hear it (more like Yuri was reliving a memory), “I had a cat like that, once.”</p>
<p>“Was it a Birman, too?” Yuri glanced up, eyes having slid downward with his thoughts, and, after what appeared to be a breath, going by the way his eyelashes fluttered, shook his head.</p>
<p>“It wasn’t,” he said, “a Ragdoll, but they can look similar.”</p>
<p>Otabek nodded, as if he had any idea what that meant. “I see,” he said, and, aware of how delicate the atmosphere was, more so than it ever had been, aware of the glimmer in Yuri’s eyes as he thought, the flecks of his gold in his irises standing out, continued, “I’m glad that I know the story behind Champ-- Champagne--’s name, now. It’s just like my sister to make a pet name as confusing as possible.” The joke seemed to stabilize things, and the outer corners of Yuri’s eyelids crinkled again, just so.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Yuri had hardly reached for the last of the umbrellas from the procession, hand braced on his thigh and bent at an awkward angle over the dark wooden floor, before there was a shrill voice in his ear and a mane of crimson locks being pushed into his face. Yuri jerked back, having been unprepared for Mila’s assault, and she caught him deftly as he stumbled over the hem of his yukata, steadying him without batting an eye. Completely unaffected, Mila began, baely drawing breath (Yuri internally groaned at the maniacal glint in her eyes), “You little liar!” </p>
<p>Yuri blinked. He hadn’t expected that. “What?” </p>
<p>“You little liar!” Mila repeated, and Yuri winced at her volume, glancing inconspicuously around to see if anyone was in earshot, or, more importantly, close enough to see Mila talking to him-- in a pinch, they might be able to pretend that the ‘liar’ comment had been an insult, but Yuri’s hopes were slim. “You said he wasn’t coming back! That he was leaving in two months! But <i>he came back, </i>didn’t he? He came back and you two <i>talked!”</i></p>
<p>No one else was around: they were alone in the drafty, vaguely chilly hall. Mila’s reckless nature would live to antagonize another day. </p>
<p>“I didn’t lie,” Yuri said, allowing himself a huff while no one was there to stop him. “I didn’t know he was going to come back.”</p>
<p>Mila narrowed shrewd eyes at him; Yuri stared impassively into them. A second passed.</p>
<p>Mila huffed, “Whatever; the point is <i>he came back!</i> You two talked the whole time-- don’t try to deny it, I watched you.”</p>
<p>Yuri rolled his eyes, leaning over again to bundle up the last few parasols left to transport to the closet. Mila moved forward and grabbed them herself, ignoring Yuri’s mutters and trooping over to the small door a few yards away, Yuri trailing behind her, vaguely anxious that the parasols might have their stitches pulled in Mila’s inexperienced hands. </p>
<p>“Yes, we spoke,” Yuri amended once he’d inspected Mila’s carry-job, setting his own parasol down on a padded mat and sitting. Mila grasped his arm lightly; Yuri glared at her, but didn’t protest as she steadied his descent onto the floor. “So what? I couldn’t exactly turn him down when he followed me to my bench,” he shrugged. “It’s not important; his mother probably sent him, again.”</p>
<p>“Did he <i>say</i> his mother sent him?” Mila probed, sprawling out beside Yuri, auburn hair fiery in the flickering, orangey lamplight.</p>
<p>“Not specifically--” Yuri began when Mila ‘tsked, waving his comment away with a smooth, dismissive flick of her wrist.</p>
<p>“Then she probably didn’t!” Mila declared, eyes sparkling. “I bet he came because he wanted to see you, again.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, but--</p>
<p>Yuri frowned. “What’s wrong?”</p>
<p>Mila’s grin fell, before she rolled her eyes playfully. “Nothing, idiot,” she said, leaning on him in that way she did whenever she was either A) trying to piss him off, or B) deflecting. Today, it seemed it was a bit of both. “Can’t I discuss your true love in peace?”</p>
<p>Yuri rolled his eyes, but was undeterred, determinedly failing to rise to her bait. (Even though something in his stomach flipped when she said that.) “No.” He said bluntly, “What’s wrong? You’re upset.”</p>
<p>“I’m not!”</p>
<p>“You are.”</p>
<p>Mila huffed, sagging slightly into his side from where she remained draped uncomfortably over him. “It’s nothing,” she shrugged dismissively, rolling her eyes and failing to look annoyed. “I was just wrong about something, that’s all. It doesn’t matter.”</p>
<p>Yuri waited. He wasn’t naturally a quiet person, but he could be when it counted. He was soft-spoken at showings; he was his best approximation of invisible around the other omegas; he could be silent when Mila was sad. After a moment, Mila snorted derisively, and Yuri ignored the small patch of wetness he felt on his shoulder.</p>
<p>“It’s fucking stupid,” she said, and Yuri sighed internally at the profanity; Mila rarely swore, having been brought up with very few vulgarities, unlike Yuri, and she only indulged when she really was upset; Yuri knew what this was about. “I don’t know what I expected. <i>Of course</i> he liked Hana better: she’s perfect, it only makes sense.”</p>
<p>Hana, wasn’t, in fact, perfect. She was a bitch, of the highest degree, and as first in the procession, she made it her life’s mission to make Yuri’s, specifically, (but all of the lower ranks’) life hell. But he knew what Mila meant. Hana was the kind of beautiful that made having the bottom two-thirds of your face and most of your body covered irrelevant; she was the picture of grace, and a soft-spoken (viper-tongued), sweet (sadistic), extroverted (only when she had something to gain from it) matchmaker’s pet. She was hated by all except her lackeys.</p>
<p>Yuri stroked Mila’s hair, letting her sniffle into his yukata. He could get up early to wash it, tomorrow. “He wasn’t good enough for you, anyway,” he said, though that line had never helped in the past. No matter how many times she got hurt, Mila was always quick to throw her heart back into the fray, seemingly unconscious of the number of times it had been returned to her bleeding and bruised. No matter how many times Yuri watched it happen, it never got easier to see her so upset. “Let him choose her; she’ll make him miserable to his dying day.”</p>
<p>Mila laughed wetly, nodding against his shoulder. “At least someone likes one of us,” she said, only halfway to a tearful sigh.</p>
<p>Yuri was proud of her, so he nodded and muttered an agreement.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>How many times can you use some variation of the word "huffed" before it becomes redundant? More accurately: how many times can you use some variation of the word "huffed" to <i>make it</i> redundant? Have I reached the number, yet? Thoughts in the comments! xD</p>
<p>Because I apparently can't be trusted to put the "next update on:___" on each chapter, I will stop. Updates remain weekly; nothing has changed.</p>
<p>Thank you so much for reading; comments and kudos, if you feel so inclined to give them, always make my day. ♥</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter four recap: After struggling to convince himself that Otabek would <i>not</i> be returning to the house, Yuri is shocked when the man does, in fact, do this. They discuss Otabek's heroism in saving his sister's cat and Yuri's interest in said cat is duly noted when he guesses (correctly) what breed it is. Yuri then slips up and mentions Potya, and, sensing his vulnerability, Otabek jokes about his sister's cat's name to lighten things up. Later, after the showing, Mila reveals that her chosen alpha had essentially 'dumped' her, and, when sighing that "at least someone likes one of us" Yuri agrees to make her feel better. Overall, the quality of last chapter was a resounding 1/10, so I apologize for that (we love time constraints!) and hope that this chapter can excel and reach 3/10. </p><p>(Disclaimer: I am in no way any sort of authority on any matter <i>at all</i> remotely relating to philosophy. Google is my soulmate; I did my best; please take this with a grain of salt. :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It felt, Yuri had discovered, both as though an eternity and no time at all passed between house showings. Life, as Yuri knew it, at least, was exceedingly boring, a fact which lent itself to the feeling that long periods of time passed between what were arguably the most interesting events of Yuri’s existence; but time also seemed to speed up when he wasn’t looking, as though he blinked and it was no longer Friday evening, but Monday morning. Which was how it went that day.</p><p>Yuri woke earlier than he would ever have liked to, dragged himself out of bed, wincing and hissing softly at the stiffness in his body, and trooped downstairs to begin making breakfast with Mila. She was doing better after the events of last Thursday’s showing, quick recoveries a trademark of hers, and seemed to be over her rejection-- if her renewed comments about Otabek had anything to do with it, that was. While Yuri was glad that she was feeling better, the incessant, pestering questions about Otabek and (often crude) innuendos certainly left something to be desired about her behavior.</p><p>It was almost <i>(almost)</i> a relief when breakfast finished and, after serving out the appropriate portions of food, Yuri was allowed to retreat to the bottom of the long table in the dining hall, well away from Mila and the rest of the elite, able to think uninterrupted for the first time that day. Careful not to show any outward sign of distaste for their meal (just because Yuri had made it, didn’t mean that he liked it) and to eat at a pace not leisurely enough to warrant his food being taken on the excuse of inappetite, nor quickly enough for it to be taken as a remonstrance for slovenly behavior, Yuri allowed his thoughts to wander. Distractedly, he returned to the last conversation topic he and Otabek had covered (cat breeds notwithstanding): matters of, opinions on, and the validity of metaphysical realism. </p><p>While Yuri understood and agreed with the general theory, that particular branch of philosophy had never sat well with him, even when he’d learned it so many years ago, back when he had believed himself a beta. Now, enlightened as he was about his status as an omega and dealing with the consequential changes to his life said discovery entailed, Yuri liked the theory even less, finding it rather bleak. Of course, in essence, it was not (for how was the matter of saying that an object existed independently of peoples’ ideas about it anything other than true?) but it represented many of the things Yuri routinely pondered -- those outside of philosophy -- and only served to highlight the improbabilities his ideas held.</p><p>Naturally, <i>logically,</i> his grandfather’s wellbeing was an established reality, well aside from and unaffected by the immaterial nature of Yuri’s hopes and fears, but the express truth that Nikolai Plisetsky might be dead or dying at that very moment, even if Yuri had no idea or imagined him happy and well, was, to say the least, an upsetting one. It was similar to the concept of a tree falling in a forest; going by every law of nature, yes, it made a sound, but if no one was around to hear it, did that sound matter? And, by extension, if no one witnessed it, had it happened, at all? If Yuri’s grandfather was ill and pained, then it was true he was, and it mattered nothing if Yuri was there to verify it for himself; but if Yuri wasn’t there, had no way of knowing that his only kin was ailed and therefore was untroubled by its truth, did it matter? Logically, <i>yes, </i>it <i>did,</i> for it was undeniably happening, but couldn’t Yuri choose to believe a nicer version of events and make it a reality for himself and himself alone? </p><p>Of course, Yuri hadn’t brought up such a personal example while discussing the philosophical theory with Otabek, but he <i>had</i> brought his daring up a level in suggesting, to counter Otabek’s idea that metaphysical realism should be accepted as correct in any given circumstance, that it might in fact be harmful in some scenarios, depending on the point-of-view and subject matter in question. That had, as Yuri was proud (once his terror had subsided) to report, given Otabek pause-- enough so that Yuri had momentarily regretted bringing it up. </p><p>That was, until Otabek had lifted his gaze from Yuri, where it had been stationed throughout the duration of several seconds’ contemplation, and nodded, agreeing (rather softly, in Yuri’s inexpert opinion) that he had never seen it that way. As a small, strange sort of pride had bloomed in Yuri’s chest, he had let the corners of his mouth quirk into what could, if visible behind his parasol, be distinguished as a smile. Hidden as his face was, no one could view the expression, and so Yuri allowed himself this one, small indulgence.</p><p>In present time, though, as Yuri’s already rebellious stomach (the mushy porridge before him was <i>so</i> unappatizing) gave a twist at the roundabout mention of his grandfather, Yuri sought around for a topic to distract himself, one hopefully more pleasant than his ever present worries over his grandfather’s health. Unbidden, an image floated to mind, Otabek coughing slightly and checking his watch. It was a habit the alpha was quite prone to, Yuri had gathered after having witnessed its execution at least once every time they’d met, following the first showing. Such a strange habit, of all things, it was, it had served to draw and hold his attention.</p><p>In the 21st century, it was rare that anyone wore wristwatches, anymore; rarer still that they displayed them so freely at the house, where the prime objective was always to seem rich and clever-- one far more easily achieved through strategic displays of the newest iPhones and Apple Watches than old-fashioned (if well cared for), leather wristwatches of the type more likely to belong to a sixty-year-old grandpa than a strapping alpha in his twenties. This had yet to occur to Otabek, it seemed, or perhaps he just didn’t care, for he had shown quite the propensity for flicking up his wrist, adjusting his sleeve, and glancing down at the unapologetically outdated timekeep. Yuri found it refreshing, the sight of an unabashed alpha with less-than-fashionable accessories, where, far too often, there had been portraits of preening peacocks, their money clips brandished distastefully about. Humility was a quality the house (and its visitors, for that matter) lacked grievously, and the sight of its free exercise was one Yuri could almost admit to liking.</p><p>***</p><p>In keeping with the general strangeness of time’s chosen passage, Yuri’s morning had barely started before it had been declared over, his time putting in a few alterations on the elites’ parasols seemingly eternal in stark contrast, never-ending even as he opened his own, plain umbrella and assumed his place at the end of the procession.</p><p>“Hello,” Otabek began as Yuri was seated at his bench, the alpha himself showing no sign of discomfort in the fact that his own remained broken and he was forced to stand while Yuri sat. (It had been something Yuri had worried about, before, as sitting while in the presence of a standing alpha was a <i>major</i> faux-pas, but after a gentle suggestion from Otabek that Yuri sit, he had deemed it prudent to adhere to his wishes throughout the rest of their interactions.) “How are you?”</p><p>“Hello,” Yuri replied, his palm cool against the dark stone as he sat carefully upon it. And, after less than the smallest pause, “I’m well. And you?” </p><p>Otabek had never inquired after Yuri’s personal wellbeing, before, nor had the latter’s scores of failed suitors; this was quite new territory for him, and Yuri was thankful for the small, flesh-colored stickers placed strategically over his scent glands. It was said that alphas could smell when omegas lied to them; it might’ve just been an old wives’ tale taught by the houses to scare unruly omegas into obedience, but Yuri wouldn’t risk it with his inaccurate answer without the blockers stuck to his neck and wrists.</p><p>“Likewise; I’m glad to hear it,” Otabek nodded. “I’ve seen my sister since we last met,” he added, one corner of his mouth curling up. “Your theory has been confirmed: Champagne is a Birman cat. Good job.”</p><p>Yuri nodded, a flicker of pride in his chest; his inner omega preened under the validation and Yuri fought both the urge to smile, and to roll his eyes. In the end, he settled for, “Thank you, though I can’t say my idea was impressive: the majority of cat-owners have some idea of other breeds.” He bargained it was safe to say that; Otabek had already stated that he’d never had a cat, and therefore had no reason to be insulted by Yuri’s remark.</p><p>“Maybe so,” Otabek agreed, impending contradiction warm in his voice, “but I doubt many would be able to correctly identify a breed based on only a lacklustre description and an oddity of a joke.”</p><p>“Perhaps not,” Yuri tilted his head incrementally; this was verging on dangerous territory. “I did enjoy the presence of cats more than some.” </p><p>
  <i>Please let the admission be enough and change the topic.</i>
</p><p>“Did you have more than one?” Otabek asked immediately; Yuri fought the urge to swear. </p><p>“I did,” he nodded, “A ragdoll and ragamuffin after my calico passed.” This wasn’t good; Yuri didn’t start chewing on his lip, but it was a near thing. The omegas weren’t supposed to talk about themselves at showings -- talk much, <i>period</i> -- and personal information was an absolute no-- <i>especially</i> when it was about pre-presentation life. Yuri had never broken that rule before (his slip-up mentioning of Potya at the last showing an error he was still concerned over), and, if not for his literal inability to politely answer Otabek’s questions without doing so, still wouldn’t have.</p><p>Otabek’s eyebrows furrowed as Yuri watched him, anxious that he might be displeased by his behavior. Fuck. He didn’t like the way Yuri kept talking about himself; he was annoyed; he thought it was rude, presumptuous--</p><p>“Ragamuffin?” Yuri blinked, before schooling his slightly widened eyes back to their normal size. “You said you had a ragamuffin,” Otabek elaborated when Yuri failed to respond immediately (and, boy, would he kick himself for <i>that one,</i> later), “what is that?”</p><p>Oh. Relief flooded through Yuri’s system, and he replied, steadily enough that he thought his apprehension from a moment ago wouldn’t be noticeable, “A type of cat.” Otabek cocked his head, looking absolutely nonplussed. The part of Yuri’s omega that was Difficult rolled around in his chest, enjoying Otabek’s <i>cute</i> expression of confusion. Yuri tamped down on it.</p><p>“I thought you said a ragdoll was a type of cat?”</p><p>“It is,” Yuri nodded once, “they both are.”</p><p>Otabek looked at him for a moment, apparently undergoing some deeply painful process of mental math, before sighing audiby, shaking his head with an unmistakable look of defeat on his features. Yuri’s omega rolled again.</p><p>***</p><p>It was later that night, dinner before him on the long, Oak table, when Yuri allowed himself to retreat into his head, again, spacing out to wherever his brain would take him. Said brain, heavily influenced by his omega’s unrelentingly fluffy thoughts (and wasn’t <i>that</i> weird to say) drifted to the end of that day’s showing, to the current topic of his omega’s fuzziness.</p><p>It had been less than nothing, the smallest of small movements, but (timing uncanny) Otabek had glanced at his watch just seconds before the gong had sounded, signalling the omegas’ return to the house. As trivial as Yuri readily admitted it was, Yuri had derived some, small satisfaction from seeing Otabek check his watch, the affirmation of his morning’s dwellings oddly pleasant. He had nearly allowed himself to chuckle as he’d noticed, just barely endeared by the familiar, quickly-becoming-trademark motion. Idly, dipping his spoon into the murky, rapidly congealing soup in front of him, Yuri wondered if Otabek didn’t have some strange alienation with current electronics, with the amount he fiddled with that watch.</p><p>Abruptly, the half-full bowl of soup was pulled out from under Yuri’s descending spoon, the ceramic and stainless steel clinking together with the swiftness of the motion. The droplets of soup that had been flooding his spoon flicked out, splattering the sleeve of Yuri’s yukata with sticky, grey-ish broth. Yuri looked up, only time and practice keeping the swear from leaving his throat, and found himself face to face with one of the countless banshees of the first rank. Expression carefully placid in response to the girl’s challenging one, Yuri clenched his fist under the table; with as much effort as he would need to wrestle a tiger back into a cage (or to perform the black swan’s 32 fouettes; he would know), Yuri lowered his gaze, determinedly setting to work removing rapidly-drying, clumpy, rather viscous soup from his sleeve and wrist. </p><p>A haughty, victorious sniff sounded next to his ear, and Yuri breathed freely again when the click of good-quality geta announced the girl’s departure to the top of the table-- the significant remains of Yuri’s dinner disappearing with her. That was the one constant among the omegas of the house: though the higher ranks received every privilege the others did not, no one ever had enough to eat. </p><p>As if just realizing that it would receive nothing else in the way of sustenance, Yuri’s stomach growled. At the same time, a petulant kick hit just beneath Yuri’s navel as the baby demanded more. Sighing internally, Yuri set a hand on his stomach, rubbing the curve of it placatingly. They’d both be hungry, that night.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Inappetite is now a word because I declare it so. The entirety of Google is wrong: it <i>is</i> grammatically correct! XD</p><p>Thank you so much for reading! Comments, if you wish to give them, are greatly appreciated. ♥</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter 5 recap: BABY BABY BABY-- otherwise, Otabek and Yuri's relationship improves incrementally, I stumble through the murky realms of metaphysical realism via Yuri, and his food is taken by an omega from the first rank. Mila gets dumped and cries on Yuri's shoulder, Yuri allowing her to pretend Otabek likes him because she's sad, even though, <i>obviously,</i> that is not true. XD</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Yuri woke, for the first time at this house, to a view of a world in white. It was the first thing he noticed as he gained consciousness, the blanket of snow covering the outside world. Shivering, Yuri ventured slightly further out of his blanket nest to get a better look at the world beyond the house walls, his pinkened nose and cheeks coming into view from beyond the edge of the sheet. The sight of the snow was interesting to Yuri, and jarring if anything ever was; on the one hand, the snow brought with it the cold necessary for its precipitation, which Yuri <i>already</i> hated; but on the other… it was snow.</p>
<p>Now, Yuri was no stranger to cold climates: he was from fucking <i>Moscow;</i> and he was far from susceptible to the allure of solidified water, but the first snowfall of the season, viewed early in the morning while the dusting of powder was still ethereal and unmarred, had always been magical to him. And, after such a long drought of anything familiar, anything he knew or was so accustomed to that he found it remotely safe, the sight of the snow was comforting. It was a quiet promise that all those bright, winter mornings where he and his grandfather had had snowball fights were real, and not just figments of his lonely, deprived mind, created to keep him company when no one else could.</p>
<p>It was with these memories at the forefront of his mind that Yuri dressed, pulling on his yukata and geta and drifting down the seemingly-endless, drafty stairs with images of ill-afforded hot-cocoa and chocolate-mustaches as his guardians. Yuri was just reliving a particularly bright, chilly morning with his grandfather when he’d come home from university for the holidays (the two had played endless rounds of Scrabble and Yuri had been put to work making endless batches of cookies because he was Too Thin™), when he entered the kitchen. Mila, always awake before him and currently standing facing the stove, looked up as he approached, face flushed pink and eyes shining. Evidently, she loved the snow, too. </p>
<p>Despite the draft wafting in from the flaked putty surrounding the window pane, that morning’s breakfast prep was more enjoyable than Yuri could ever remember it being, which was not to say that he didn’t like it, normally, for he did: it was one of his few chances to be himself, and, as much as he may bemoan her extroversion, he really did care for Mila; but they had never before spent their time together reminiscing over ridiculous anecdotes of Christmas time, standing far closer to the ovens than was necessary (and probably safe), and having pretend snowball fights with the dough they were supposed to be molding into adequate breakfast food. It was at the end of the merrimaking, though, that their little denial-bubble popped, and Mila mentioned, offhandedly, evidently assuming that Yuri was aware of what she was talking about, whether or not the “babies” would be promising, this season.</p>
<p>In actuality, Yuri had no idea what Mila was referring to, and, after a quick glance at his abdomen and a resulting head shake (there was no way she meant Yuri’s, and besides, he was pretty sure that it was only one, and not multiple) he interrupted her, demanding an explanation in the form of a “What?”</p>
<p>Mila blinked. “The babies?” A nod. “Oh,” her eyes widened, “do you not know about those? I thought they had them in Russia, too.”</p>
<p>“What the hell are you talking about, baba?” Yuri asked, raising an eyebrow. “Yes, we have infants in Russia; we don’t import them, you know.”</p>
<p>Mila rolled her eyes, tossing her auburn curls. “No, not <i>literal</i> babies!” She looked at Yuri as if he were ridiculous; Yuri was less than amused. “We just call them that; I mean new omegas. You know, to,” she pursed her lips, air quoting her next words, “‘replenish the stock’ before the mating season starts up again?”</p>
<p>Yuri just shook his head, and she sighed, put-upon in every facet of the word.</p>
<p>“Every mating season,” Mila began, over-enunciating and speaking slowly, as if to a particularly dim toddler. Yuri swatted her and she giggled, continuing, “we have showings with all of the omegas here featured. When the mating season ends, in early December, we get a new ‘batch’ of omegas to replace the ones who were mated during the season. Until April, we train them in the basics, just enough so they can be mated but without the more advanced classes available during the spring and summer, and when April arrives, the mating season begins, again. We call them ‘babies’ because they’re new and have to be taught.” She paused, “And it’s probably supposed to foster a maternal instinct or whatever in us, too,” she shrugged, waving a flippant hand. “Do you not do that in Russia?”</p>
<p>Yuri shook his head. “At least in the house I went to, we didn’t. We had the seasons and the new people, like you said, but it was kind of staggered, not just a complete influx. And we didn’t call them ‘babies’.” Yeah, that was weird.</p>
<p>Mila waved a dismissive hand, “Then it’s pretty close. The only big thing is that when the mating season ends, the showings keep going, but only those who have graduated advanced classes can go to them: the ‘babies’ and those still in training don’t.” She shrugged, “It’s kind of like a select season; only the best are there.” She paused, then, offhandedly, “Or the ones who no one wants.” Then, glancing at Yuri, she winced. Yuri just rolled his eyes, returning to work.</p>
<p>“Do we get the new people soon?” He asked, unwilling to call them ‘babies’, no matter how standard it was. For others, maybe, it was fine, but he just didn’t like it. </p>
<p>“Yeah, should be within the week.” Mila replied, opening the oven and swooning in the resulting blast of heat. Yuri stood beside her for a moment, feeling his nose defrost, before grabbing the tray of buns from the rack inside. </p>
<p>Mila glanced at him as he removed the buns and sniggered, her eyes on his abdomen. Yuri rolled his own and chucked a burned piece of bread at her. The resulting shriek was penance enough.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>True to Mila’s prediction, it was that Wednesday when the omegas came down to breakfast (Yuri and Mila came out of the <i>kitchen</i> to breakfast) to find perhaps thirty new, scared, young-looking people lined up in the entry hall. Out of all of them, there was one boy, the only other besides Yuri in the house, and his small, thin frame told Yuri that he couldn’t be more than 19. With his wide brown eyes and colorfully-dyed hair, he seemed much younger than he likely was, and absolutely terrified-- at least if his quivering was anything to go by. Yuri fought down a surge of sympathy for the kid, and tried not to relate to the fear in his gaze. </p>
<p>***</p>
<p>With the new people, the house was busy. Bustling with motion and activity, guards herded unfamiliar omegas around, said omegas were ridiculed by more seasoned ones when they asked where classroom 13 (the subject was knitting???) was, and matchmakers rained punishments down onto all and none who deserved them in equal measure, eager to beat one hell of a first impression into the newbies. <strike>Literally.</strike> What made things worse, too, (and what gained Yuri a third punishment for missing the deadline, the first two delivered merely for existing) was the fact that all of these thirty-something omegas needed parasols. Why Yuri, the sole parasol-manufacturer/modifier/restorer hadn’t been given advance notice and instructions for the umbrellas he was supposed to create, he did not know. Why he had to have them all finished one week after the omegas’ arrival when they wouldn’t be needed complete for months, he did not know. Why he was given lunch duty on top of his physical punishment and increased parasol-maintenance, he did not know. (Well, he did, but his knowledge of the matchmakers’ disdain for him helped nothing.) What Yuri did know, though, was that he was seriously starting to <i>hate</i> the stares that followed him, permanently affixed to one particular part of his person.</p>
<p>While Yuri had never exactly been <i>ignored,</i> before, always the butt of some joke or the object of assorted ridicule, he hadn’t been outrightly gawked at, at least in this manner, since he’d first come to the house, several months ago. The constant attention from the new omegas was an annoyance he hadn’t dealt with for quite some time, and, when compounded with everything else, Yuri found himself braving the frigid weather for solitude in the garden. He knew that it was a shock for the newbies to see him: hell, <i>he</i> would probably echo their amazement had he not been the recipient of it; but he wished quixotically that they would get over it, already.</p>
<p>Yuri hadn’t been able to hide the fact that he was pregnant since he’d first come to the house (if everyone hadn’t been informed of the fact, beforehand, that was) but his abdomen had grown exponentially since then, and (by his own guesstimations at the timestamp) its seven-month-pregnant state was absolutely impossible to miss. It preceded him into every room, hindered much of his motion, and was the first thing anyone saw when they looked at him. The new additions to the first rank were quick to aim snide remarks at him, and, though less aggressively, the lower ranks stared at him in horrified fascination, as well. Yuri hadn’t expected anything else, but seeing the omega boy with dyed hair gape openly at him as they passed on the stairs stung; Yuri had thought that the boy would have at least <i>some</i> sense of kinship with the only other male omega in the house, whether he be pregnant or not.</p>
<p>It didn’t matter, though, because Yuri’s chores and subsequent rush to complete parasol after parasol kept him busy, and he often found himself in danger of nodding off in his closet when he worked (as he usually did) into the night. He wasn’t left much time to bemoan his infamy, entombed in his closet as often as he was, so he supposed that he had to be at least slightly grateful that he was able to avoid the others so effectively, aware from experience that things could be much, <i>much</i> worse. At least, as horrible as it was to say, with the new people around, the guards had easier targets than Yuri to pick on, and when, alone in his closet, Yuri could smell a guard linger outside the door, his fears were often assuaged by the steady <i>clumping</i> of their boots away.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>One benefit of the snowfall, the snow that, trodden on and melting, was steadily turning dreary and grey (along with Yuri’s spirits), was that its presence was enough to finally convince the matchmakers of what the negative temperatures and biting winds would not: that it was time to bring out winter clothing for the omegas. Each was allotted thicker yukatas in the same style as their summer ones (Yuri’s was a drab, army green, easily the least attractive color available-- even among the new omegas), winter boots, gloves, and hanten: kimono-style coats just thick enough to be passable but not nearly so to nullify to icy winds. It was the first day of the new clothes, and Yuri luxuriated in what would otherwise be pitiful, scant adornments, but, to him, were royal robes, as he walked down through the garden, shivers not so violent that he couldn’t repress them, and he took that as a win in and of itself.</p>
<p>Minutes later, Yuri sat, tensely immobile, on his stone bench, feeling a twinge of sympathy for Otabek where he stood, hunched slightly and buffeted by the wind; a tree at Yuri’s side protected from it, but he knew well how unpleasant the sensation was. Fighting bravely to make conversation despite the weather, Otabek introduced a point of Descartes’, which they discussed for a while, long enough that the wind died down and Otabek was able to fully face Yuri without the fear of a leaf being blown into his eye.</p>
<p>“Speaking of his cardinal philosophy,” Otabek began, and his eyes twinkled with an unfamiliar light. It was amusement, most definitely, but Yuri couldn’t pinpoint exactly what <i>type</i> of it. It made him nervous, not to know what he had done or what was coming, and so, when Otabek spoke, he was caught so off-guard that he gave a genuine reaction.</p>
<p>“Did you ever hear about Descartes and his girlfriend?” Otabek said as a preface, and Yuri replied in the negative; he hadn’t thought that Descartes had ever had a significant other? Or at least a legitimate one? “Well,” Otabek began, and by his body language, Yuri knew he was a bit uncertain, too. What of, Yuri had no idea, but was preemptively nervous for, all the same. “He took her out to dinner on their anniversary, and she ordered the most expensive thing on the menu,” what? That wasn’t at all accurate to the period-- “but Descartes, indignant, exclaimed, ‘I think not!’, and proceeded to poof out of existence.”</p>
<p>It took Yuri a second to get that this was a <i>joke,</i> but when he did, he couldn’t stop himself: he laughed. It was more of a dramatic, amused exhalation of air than true laughter, but it was more than Yuri had managed in Otabek’s presence, before. He didn’t have time to have a heart attack over the danger in which he’d just put himself, though, because Otabek’s scent spiked at Yuri’s reaction, quickly suppressed yet unmistakable tendrils of <i>affection</i> swirling in the air between them. </p>
<p>Huh.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>That was such a happy chapter. Ha, that won't last. xD</p>
<p>OKAY, SO: My friend <a href="https://twitter.com/JNAlwayslost">@JNLostt</a> (on Twitter) drew the most <i>amazing</i> fanart of Yuri! View it <a href="https://twitter.com/JNAlwayslost/status/1333836934809006087?s=20">here</a> and give this lovely, talented artist some love! Thank you so much, darling! ♥</p>
<p>Thank you, as always, for reading! If you feel so inclined, comments and kudos make my day! ♥</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter six recap: It snows! Some memories from Moscow, banter with Mila, and a new batch of omegas ensue. At the end of the showing, Otabek makes a (terrible) joke about Descartes and Yuri is caught so off guard that he laughs at it. Otabek is fucking thrilled and his scent betrays his affection for Yuri. Huh. </p>
<p>Venom, I have good and bad news. The bad news: you will no longer be receiving a gift work in a few oneshots' time. The good news: said gift work has now become story-canon. You'll like this chapter. ;)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ever since the last showing, the last time he’d seen Otabek, Yuri had been… distracted. Honestly, there wasn’t any other word for it. And yet, he wasn’t distracted by what one would expect him to be distracted by, the <i>affection</i> apparently prevalent in Otabek’s perception of him, but instead was distracted <i>from</i> it, and purposefully so. Yuri forced his mind to the present whenever possible, focusing on the dough between his hands, the cold, redness of his nose, the sensation of tiny beads and a needle between his oftentimes clumsy, fumbling fingers. For all Yuri tried to drive the subject out of his mind, though, it was difficult, when sitting alone in his small, dark closet, haloed in the orangey glow of the lamp with mindless work to occupy his hands, to keep the thoughts from coming.</p>
<p>The thing was, affection, attachment, hell, even <i>loyalty, </i>to a degree, was dangerous. In any relationship, any of those things and <i>many more</i> were dangerous; if Yuri grew to develop personal feelings beyond simplistic, <i>like/dislike</i> perceptions of things, objects, <i>people,</i> most specifically, it put him out at sea. As Yuri knew far too well, had learned far too early, that nothing was constant, nothing was predictable, and nothing, following the trend of his life, would consider him when it did whatever it was wont to do. Yuri could count on one hand the number of people he’d allowed himself to care for in his life, and couldn’t count on twenty how many ways in which those lapses in self control had come back to bite him in the ass. Even now -- <i>especially</i> now --, Yuri kept himself carefully neutral in any and all subjects. He disliked the lumpy soup he was served for dinner; he disliked his perpetual state of <i>cold;</i> he disliked the stares that never left him; but, truly, his life went on. He continued with his day, and they didn’t matter to him. Sure, he enjoyed exercising his mind, he enjoyed his banter with Mila, he enjoyed the silence and stillness of his closet, but, without them, his life wouldn’t be over. Yuri was painstakingly, laboriously <i>neutral</i> in every aspect of life, having become so years ago when he’d realized how much <i>lighter</i> the weight of existing was, when he simply <i>didn’t care. </i></p>
<p>Otabek, it seemed, had missed that lesson.</p>
<p>Maybe he’d never learned it, Yuri reasoned, with the cushy, alpha life the man led. He’d probably never lost something he loved, always enjoying the means to have it returned to him. He’d doubtlessly never had to worry about the things that would never cease plaguing Yuri’s mind. A part of Yuri envied him for that, but the predominant, rational majority of him could only look away, teeth gritted. What did you say to someone when you knew they would lose? Because, at some point, Otabek would meet the harsh reality that caring and loving fostered; he would feel the anguish Yuri was forcibly impervious to. </p>
<p>It seemed, and Yuri almost regretted that it was true, that Otabek had met that moment in him. Even if he didn’t realize it, even as he waded blindly into the murky, seductive realms of <i>affection</i> for Yuri, Otabek had met his reality check, had encountered what was possibly the only thing Yuri could imagine was out of his reach. In caring for Yuri at all, Otabek had set himself up for failure; Yuri, as stalwartly as he <i>wasn’t,</i> was sorry about that.</p>
<p>But.</p>
<p>But, as Yuri mindlessly kneaded his allotment of dough, one day, listening with half an ear to Mila’s perky, never-ending questions about Otabek and what he had said about the newest philosophy topic up for discussion (meliorism; at Mila’s request, Yuri had explained it. She’d liked the idea; shocker), he had a thought. It was a dangerous thought, but a carefully hopeful, tentatively genius thought, nonetheless.</p>
<p>Mila, like Otabek, had yet to master (or even take up training in) the art of indifference. Mila, like Otabek, was quick to throw her affections at people, heedless of the inevitable turmoil it would later cause. Mila, like Otabek, believed wholeheartedly in meliorism. Mila, who, by all of her questions about him, <i>liked</i> Otabek. </p>
<p>So, when Yuri donned his hanten and took up his parasol, he had a plan. </p>
<p>A plan that was made infinitely more complicated by the fact that, as Yuri looked through the bars of the gate, Otabek stood apart from the other alphas, speaking into a phone. He laughed. Yuri’s innards twisted, and he attributed it to the wrench a love interest would throw in his careful planning.</p>
<p>Honestly, the cellphone threw Yuri off more than it probably should have. Sure, Otabek had responsibilities, of course he did, but the appearance of the newest iPhone (was the company on eleven, yet? Had there ever been a nine?) made that appear more real. Likely, too, Yuri’s perturbation was caused in part by the fact that Otabek had never shown even the slightest symptom of preoccupation while at the house, his attention wholly and unerringly focused on Yuri. Faintly, alarm bells went off a-blaring in Yuri’s head, but he was already walking to his desolate bench, so he would see to them, later. </p>
<p>Another effect of Otabek’s previously constant devotion to Yuri became apparent hardly two minutes into the showing.</p>
<p>Otabek, understandably, remained a distance away from both the gate and Yuri’s bench, finishing up his call (his lips quirked slightly up in what Yuri had come to recognize as his version of a fond smile, and Yuri directed every ounce of his attention to the Koi fish streaking through the water at his feet). The lack of his presence, though, as Yuri only now realized had been keeping other suitors away, proved problematic.</p>
<p>Yuri smelled him before he came into his line of vision, head bent as it was. At this point, Yuri was accustomed to the usual barrage of scents at showings, his heightened senses always bombarding him with them (at first he had become badly dizzy, initially retreating to his isolated bench out of necessity, more than anything else), and had adopted some semblance of skill in tuning his mind to other things, muting the sensory input to his brain. Accordingly, Yuri had<i> noticed</i> the (admittedly strong) sharp, cayenne scent of <i>alpha</i> when he’d lined up at the gate, but had forgotten it once the line had been released. As it approached him, though, the chaotic swirl of other scents absent, the muted quality the interspersal of personal fragrances had lended this one was gone.</p>
<p>Yuri’s liver was kicked as he raised his head, meeting eyes with the advancing alpha. Yuri checked the urge to rub his abdomen, and mentally agreed with the baby that he disliked the smoky, spicy scent enveloping him, too. </p>
<p>During all showings, and as a general rule of etiquette, people (with the occasional exception of betas; they rarely had a distinct scent, as it was, their pheromones more akin to those of unpresented children than the other secondary sexes’) were supposed to wear neutralizers-- over their major scent glands, at the very least. Some institutions required them for admittance; others went a step further and demanded the use of blockers that, instead of just dampening it, would cancel a person’s scent, entirely. (With only three notable exceptions.) The house had a strict, mandatory-blocker policy for all its inhabitants, the small patches to be worn every waking hour, and, <i>technically,</i> the same for alphas, though they often got away with neutralizers. Painfully obviously, this alpha had neglected to follow the rule in any capacity. </p>
<p>It wasn’t exactly a shock that he had, though, Yuri thought with an internal sigh as he looked up at the man approaching him; the alpha was handsome, and, as was made abundantly clear by his air of authority and casual confidence, he knew it. The handsome ones were always so <i>entitled. </i></p>
<p>“Hello,” the alpha began, his eyes sliding slowly over Yuri, the fact that the majority of his frame was obscured apparently unimportant. “What’s a pretty, little thing like you doing all the way out here?” He was English, Yuri realized belatedly, and he focused on this fact as the man’s acrid scent burned his nostrils.</p>
<p>Yuri did his utmost to keep his tone soft, never having been in any doubt that this alpha would be one of the first to report any perceived insolence to a matchmaker, tempering his voice in the habit he fell back into so easily, even after his brief almost-respite from it while in Otabek’s company. “I’m not an applicable mate,” he began (he thought it was best to be self-deprecating, here), before extending a pale hand out past the shield of his parasol, off to the side where the other omegas were, “I expect you’ll find far more suitable candidates elsewhere.”</p>
<p>The alpha’s eyebrows raised and oh no, he’d taken this as a challenge. Yuri exhaled slowly through his nostrils, beginning to inhale once more before choking slightly, and doing so through his mouth. <br/>“Oh, I doubt that,” lips twitched, and Yuri knew this situation far too well, had lived it again and again in his life, even the expression of this alpha he’d never seen before perfect to the memory. “You’d be applicable for anything, I’m sure. Look at yourself, Baby, there’s nothing undesirable there.”</p>
<p>Rather a bold statement, Yuri couldn’t help but think, given that the man could see the bridge of his nose and little else. Still, though. He bristled despite himself at the ‘baby’, biting the inside of his cheek as tendrils of (fuck--) arousal burned their way around him, wafting into his face and through his airways.</p>
<p>“You’re very kind,” Yuri replied, on unsteady footing even though he’d dealt with assholes like this dozens of times, head going foggier by the moment at this intrusive <i>scent. </i></p>
<p>“It isn’t kind if it’s true,” the man crooned immediately, cutting across Yuri’s faltering reply, “and, trust me, Pet, it’s true.” His pupils dilated as he moved close enough to the bars that his nose was millimeters away from the twisting, wrought iron; a hand curled loosely around one of the rungs in a casual show of dominance. Yuri fought with the instincts of the omega inside of him to get as far away from this man as possible. His breath was shallow. “In fact,” the alpha continued, “if it wasn’t for all of this formality,” a flick of his wrist as he squeezed the metal in his palm, as though warding off an insignificant irritant, “I’d be tempted to come over there and show you just how true it is.”</p>
<p>Oh, God, Yuri was going to be sick. The pheromones around him practically scorched his skin, leaving his knuckles white where he gripped the parasol, his hands shaking faintly. His head was swimming, his stomach roiled, and Yuri was struggling to think, let alone <i>breathe;</i> he was afraid that one more breath in, through his mouth or nose, would have the tears in the corners of his eyes overflowing, the scent of vomit swirling into the bitter, acrid fumes surrounding him.</p>
<p>“I-- Thank you--” Yuri couldn’t get a hold of himself, as hard as he tried, heart pounding a sickening pulse in his chest, blood rushing in his ears as he fought to hear himself and the alpha edging impossibly closer over the panic in his head, the stench closing in on all sides.</p>
<p>“You want to show me just how thankful you are?” this was all <i>too much. Too familiar. Too fast. Too foreign--</i> And Yuri noticed foggily that one of his hands was clamped over his abdomen, the baby and his stomach united in full-fledged rebellion. “You could come home with me, leave this wretched place and fall into my lovely, warm bed, <i>perform for m--”</i></p>
<p>“Excuse me,” Yuri ducked his head at the distraction, aware of the perilous line he walked but disappearing behind his parasol even so. If his eyes ran, if he puked, if he showed how repelled by this alpha he was, he would lose everything. He would <i>lose</i> everything. “Am I interrupting?”</p>
<p>A scent. A new scent. A <i>familiar</i> scent.</p>
<p>Oh, Yuri thanked every deity he didn’t believe in as Otabek’s mint cut through the cayenne strangling him, his voice speaking over the alpha that was <i>bad.</i></p>
<p>Irritation. Yuri shut his eyes tightly, his palm now pressed to his lips, willing himself to <i>hold it the fuck together.</i> “Yes, you are.” </p>
<p>“Ah, I see,” It was amazing how nonchalant Otabek’s tone was, given the situation. “Well, thank you for keeping him company while I was busy. My apologies, Yura, I had to take that call; business, you know.”</p>
<p>Later, Yuri would reflect on how easily Otabek had steered the conversation, how out-of-character it seemed that this normally borderline-laconic man had spoken so much, spouting a tale to get rid of the other alpha so quickly. Now was not that time, though, and Yuri lost the thread of the conversation after that, determinedly ignoring the rising pheromones of <i>frustration</i> and focusing desperately on the even tones of <i>calm.</i></p>
<p>It took herculean effort to maintain the even plainness of his own scent. One of the many, <i>many</i> problems created by Yuri’s pregnancy was that he was now one of the three exceptions to the use of blockers: they would no longer cancel his pheromones, only subduing them enough to be fragrant and alluring, the hints of <i>baby</i> just barely kept out. If Yuri got upset, though, that would change, and with panic threatening to undertake him, the only thing keeping Yuri’s scent stable and unaffected was the fact that it <i>couldn’t</i> not be.</p>
<p>Finally, and with great relief on Yuri’s part, the cayenne dissipated, following its owner as the alpha grumbled and stomped away, apparently bested by whatever Otabek had said. Yuri remained behind his parasol, slowly evening his breathing and clearing his head as Otabek hovered nervously before him, outside the gate. For several moments, the only sound was Yuri’s heavy breath, the air fogging up before him as he gradually regained the mental clarity to notice it. Behind the gate, Otabek fidgeted with the cuff of his jacket, obviously uncomfortable at Yuri’s continued silence and the fact that he remained hidden behind his parasol. </p>
<p>Slowly relaxing, just enough that he thought he could release the stranglehold he kept over his pheromones, Yuri let out a small, shaky sigh. Otabek, apparently taking this sound as some sort of reassurance that Yuri wasn’t about to fall into some sort of attack (it was a close thing, though), ventured a cautious, painfully obviously worried,</p>
<p>“Are you alright?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Yuri’s voice was still breathy, quavering, but he no longer felt at risk of vomiting, and his breath was coming more easily as the dizziness faded. He didn’t quite trust himself to emerge from behind the parasol, yet, but he managed a “thank you”, all the same.</p>
<p>“It’s no problem,” Otabek replied. Obviously taking heart in Yuri’s speech, he added, “I can’t stand people like that.”</p>
<p>Though his eyes were surely reddened and his face blotchy (the parts of it that could be seen, anyway), Yuri raised his head, quietly agreeing, “So do I.”</p>
<p>Otabek blinked, clearly surprised that Yuri had replied with a statement so bold, even if it was in agreement with what Otabek himself had said, and nodded. Yuri pretended not to notice the way Otabek’s scent infused briefly with excitement, and tried not to feel just slightly fond as Otabek flailed for something with which to continue the conversation.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry I was late,” Otabek decided on, at last. Even though he hadn’t <i>really</i> been late, but whatever; effectively, Yuri supposed he was right. “I had to take that call.”</p>
<p>“Nothing’s wrong?” Yes, Yuri’s condition was steadily improving, but he wasn’t exactly feeling <i>well,</i> yet. He thought it would be safest to keep Otabek talking while he tried to recover himself and his poise; Yuri knew he couldn’t be trusted to maintain an acceptable conversation, right now.</p>
<p>“No,” Otabek shook his head, “I just had to confirm tickets with a friend. We’re seeing a ballet, tonight, and she made me promise I could make it.” And there was the fond, little smile. Yuri <i>did not </i>frown. Otabek shrugged, continuing, “I can’t blame her; I haven’t seen her or her husband in years, so we want to make the most of my time in Japan. See each other while we can, you know?”</p>
<p>Yuri nodded, swallowing slowly as a knot in his stomach loosened. “I do.” Otabek didn’t seem annoyed by Yuri’s near-breakdown earlier. The entire time they’d known each other, Otabek hadn’t shown the slightest inclination to report Yuri to a matchmaker, even when his carefully-honed mask slipped. Otabek <i>had a crush</i> on Yuri; he was less likely now than ever to get him into trouble over behavior he deemed undesirable, and, honestly, Yuri had cultivated the smallest shred of trust in him, over the past month. And Yuri had a job to do: a friend to protect and a match to make. Quietly, Yuri continued, “It was the same with my grandfather and I whenever I came home to Moscow.” </p>
<p>Otabek’s face lit up.</p>
<p>Yuri swallowed. For Mila. He would ensure that Otabek was a good guy for Mila, and then he would smile as they got their happily-ever-after, the harshness of reality and the reality of loss a hair’s breadth away, but avoided. He would take a few risks, himself, if that meant saving Mila from a bond like the one he’d had. Now, Yuri just wondered why his stomach hurt.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>It was a hard thing to keep from smiling the entire rest of the night. Otabek managed it, his resting bitch face truly an invaluable asset (even if he was occasionally accused of plotting murders), but he knew his lips had curled once or twice, himself powerless to stop them. When, at dinner after <i>Giselle,</i> Himari’s husband asked him, teasingly, what had put him in such a good mood, if there was someone special, Otabek only found it in himself to shrug, and reveled in the honor that was Yuri opening up to him while his friends plied him with celebratory wine.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>(Meliorism is the philosophical theory that the world can be made better by human intervention.)</p>
<p>*Giggles nervously at butchering a very important chapter* So, uh, that was all very in-character. Uh huh. Yep. :)</p>
<p>Kudos and comment if you want to; it always makes my day. Thank you, as always, for reading! ♥</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter 7 recap: Yuri decides what to do about Otabek having a crush on him in the way of setting him and Mila up through a mix of careful manipulation and skullduggery. At a showing, Another Alpha hits persistently on Yuri, who, nauseated at the man's scent, almost throws up and has to remain behind his parasol recovering for several minutes after Otabek chases The Other Alpha away. He decides to put some trust in Otabek, and mentions his grandfather; Otabek is thrilled beyond belief that Yuri is finally opening up.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Yuri’s plan was going well. Probably. He thought. </p><p>Since the incident with The Other Alpha who Yuri, honestly, preferred not to think about (some things were just too close for comfort), Yuri had been implementing his mission with varied success. With Mila, it was easy to bring up Otabek and his attributes, easy to keep a conversation about him, too, but it came with the downside of Mila teasing that<i> Yuri</i> was interested in the alpha, which, really, was less than ideal. Still, Yuri had faith that if he drilled it into Mila’s head with enough force and enough subtly (because, despite her numerous romantic failures, Mila <i>was </i>very smart), the girl would eventually take to the idea that she liked Otabek, and would direct her advances toward him and not Asshole Alpha of the Week #37, as she currently was. </p><p>At first, Yuri had been concerned that Mila’s current infatuation with another miscellaneous suitor would prove problematic, but, with Mila’s eagerness to discuss Otabek and the questions about him she tossed almost haphazardly at Yuri whenever she got the chance, Yuri thought that Mila would be an easy convert from someone named Sara, to a decidedly <i>better </i>someone named Otabek.<br/>
Despite his confidence in the Mila portion of the plan, though, Yuri could admit to some concern about the secondary, infinitely trickier and infinitely more important, part.</p><p>Introducing the topic of Mila to Otabek was far more precarious of a balancing act than vice versa, and one that Yuri had to be careful to bring about slowly. Otabek still liked him, this Yuri knew, and if he tried too directly, too obviously, to change the recipient of Otabek’s affection, all manner of ill feelings would doubtlessly abound, reflecting the bitterness of being snubbed upon Mila and destroying the whole point of Yuri’s operation. </p><p>No, Yuri knew: he’d have to slip Mila into the conversation only occasionally, enough that Otabek would know her name, perhaps recognize her in the garden, remember a tactfully-placed list of her greatest achievements, but not feel like she was being pushed onto him. It would take skilled work, a shit-ton of finagling, and a<i> lot </i>of masterful manipulation-- but Yuri was an actor, and he was nothing if not an expert at playing alphas’ heartstrings.</p><p>It would take time, though, and, before the plan could even be properly begun, Yuri would have to carry out Phase 1 in making absolutely certain, beyond the palest shadow of a doubt, that Otabek was a good man, that he would make a good mate. Of course, Yuri was already fairly secure in his belief of this -- he never would’ve started this theatrical, arduous nonsense if he weren’t --, but still found himself nervous at taking the necessary calculated risks to further reestablish Otabek’s safety.</p><p>Slowly, methodically, apparently-offhandedly, Yuri had made it his mission to slip comments about himself into his and Otabek’s conversations; personal information was the most egregious of banned topics, so, if Otabek didn’t report him on it, Yuri thought it was an excellent indicator of character. Still, though, that involved a lot of blind trust on his part, and more than a little bit of the painful dredging up of long-repressed memories.</p><p>Which was why, ten minutes into a Thursday showing, Yuri was picking at his fingernail behind the parasol, doing his best to pretend that <i>this was fine--</i> talking about his grandfather was <i>fine.</i> He didn’t want to puke, or cry, or both, <i>at all. </i></p><p>“Where in Russia does he live?” Otabek asked, his face bright and open in that way Yuri was beginning to associate with his own speech. Honestly, the strangeness of talking, relatively freely, and having his words not only be listened to but <i>enjoyed, </i>was the weirdest fucking thing. He could only remember that happening with Deda; and Mila, to some extent, though she tended to ignore him in the sisterly way that so infuriated <strike>and endeared</strike> him. “I think you mentioned Moscow, though I’m drawing a blank about whether that was where you were visiting to, or from.”</p><p>They had gotten onto the topic when Yuri had asked how the ballet Otabek had mentioned had gone; somehow, in a magical, effortless way unbeknownst to Yuri, Otabek had managed not only A) to not answer his question, but also B) to completely redirect the conversation-- to a painful and personal topic for Yuri, no less. Fan-fucking-tastic. Honestly, the shit he did for Mila.</p><p>“To Moscow,” Yuri replied, ceasing in the chewing of his lip to answer like a civilized human being-- <i>a proper mate--</i> “My grandfather lived there and I came home as often as I was able.”</p><p>Otabek smiled in that almost invisible way of his (Yuri was getting better at deciphering his facial expressions; he wasn’t sure how to feel about that <strike>though his inner omega wasted no time in shrieking and rolling with glee</strike>) and nodded. “I can understand that. I hadn’t visited Japan in nearly a decade, before this, and I can’t believe I let myself miss my family for that long.” He hesitated, “Is it hard?” He asked, his eyes sparkling with genuine, searching, heartfelt interest. “Being so far away from him?”</p><p>Yuri hadn’t wanted to discuss his deda two showings in a row; he desperately hadn’t (it was hard enough to remain functional without all of the memories invading the forefront of his mind, as it was); and he <i>really</i> didn’t want to discuss his deeply-buried, private feelings about the near three-year period of time stretching between their last encounter and the present.</p><p>“Did you enjoy the ballet?” Yuri asked, instead of answering Otabek’s question. It was a bold move, a dangerous one, changing the topic completely and so obviously deflecting, but if Otabek did have feelings for Yuri as Yuri thought he did…</p><p>Yes, there it was. Otabek nodded immediately, giving Yuri a small (small<i>er,</i> rather) smile of apology. He would drop the topic. Yuri breathed a mental sigh of relief.</p><p>“It was wonderful,” Otabek replied, <i>finally</i> answering the question from the beginning of the showing. “Giselle was so talented.”</p><p>In spite of himself, Yuri felt his face relaxing slightly, the pent-up anxiety and distress conjured by discussing his grandfather alleviated slightly as he was introduced to the discussion of one of his favorite ballets of all time. And, coincidentally, the last one he’d ever performed.</p><p>“I imagine so,” Yuri nodded, allowing his voice to warm slightly from its flat, near-monotone, “the acting required for the role, alone, is so demanding.”</p><p>Otabek quirked an eyebrow. “Are you familiar with it?” He asked, his perceptiveness, often Yuri’s downfall, taking quick notice of the incremental relaxation Yuri showed both in tone and body, when they began discussing ballet. Maybe nothing was safe at showings, maybe anything not involving mating was even more precarious, maybe revealing, even in part, just how much Yuri knew about ballet -- how much he <i>loved</i> it -- was dangerous, but, at this point, the danger was necessary. After all, Yuri was doing all of this to protect Mila who, no matter what, would escape the house. Yuri was almost certain that he never would -- though he had far from given up on his goals, no matter how desperate they were -- so, for her, a little risk could be undertaken. Collateral damage was a shame, but Yuri would rather it only be two lives than four.</p><p>“More so than most likely are.”</p><p>“I’m glad,” Otabek replied, “maybe you could explain the plot to me?” </p><p>In another time, Yuri might have laughed, likely <i>would</i> have laughed, but didn’t now. It was a valid question, honestly-- <i>Giselle</i> was a complicated ballet, and there was enough nuance to it that he’d had several people ask him to explain it, before, though said people had normally been interviewers or people of similar occupation.</p><p>“It does have rather many twists,” Yuri agreed, nodding almost sagely. “Though I’m sure your understanding of it is far better than you seem to think.”</p><p>“Maybe up until the intermission,” Otabek said loftily, “after that, things stop making as much sense.”</p><p>Yuri inclined his head; he couldn’t argue with that. “The second act is really more of the same,” Yuri began, “except with more magic incorporated.”</p><p>Otabek nodded attentively along as Yuri told the story, asking questions at the appropriate times and looking properly saddened when they reached the end, obviously appreciating the Little Mermaid-esque irony of the couple’s last dance. </p><p>Yuri tried not to enjoy the praise his storytelling received too much-- it had been so long since he’d been complimented.</p><p>***</p><p>“The mad scene is one of the best in ballet,” Yuri’s eyes sparkled as he spoke, detailing with intimate care the storyline of a show he obviously knew very well. Otabek would be lying through his teeth if he said he didn’t enjoy the sight of Yuri speaking so passionately about something, the way his eyebrows rose and fell, his eyes widened and pinched, clear indicators of his attachment to the ballet even if his voice remained soft and -- by a normal person’s standards -- subdued. For Yuri, this seemed almost lively.</p><p>“I've heard that,” Otabek had not heard that; he <i>did</i> hear, though, Yuri forcing himself to pause, respectfully, so Otabek could reply. Otabek, himself, would have been perfectly happy to stand outside the gate, old, slushy snow soaking into his boots, and listen to Yuri rant as he so clearly wanted to about <i>Giselle</i> for hours. “And <i>Giselle</i> is supposed to be one of the hardest ballets, right? So that must mean a lot.”</p><p>“It is,” Yuri nodded, though he was visibly reigning himself in, stopping himself from saying more. Otabek tried to bite back his disappointment as Yuri stopped decidedly, allowing Otabek to steer the conversation the way he so often did. These glimpses of Yuri, snippets of what he <i>must</i> be like behind closed doors, safe from the judging eyes of potential mates, were incredibly precious. Every time Yuri opened up, even slightly, just barely mentioning a name or a place, answering a question posed by Otabek that he clearly didn’t want to but would, anyway, the smallest instances of trust from Yuri made Otabek so, unbelievably <i>proud.</i> </p><p>
Yuri had lived a painful, difficult life, that was obvious from everything about him (the strength he carried himself with, the careful nature of his speech, the restraint he showed in everything he did), and was obviously a highly guarded individual, so that he let Otabek see, even for just a fraction of a second, beyond his defenses, gave Otabek hope. Yuri was starting to trust him, starting to tip his hand just the slightest bit, just enough to allow his eyes to crinkle, occasionally, in a smile, or to pull back the veil he hid behind and let the fire burning behind his irises gleam. It was admittedly ridiculous how taken Otabek was with this mysterious, forcibly-aloof omega, but at moments like these, when Yuri gave himself the time to add an extra sentence or two to his obviously carefully constructed responses, it seemed impossible <i>not</i> to want to know him, not to feel the drawn to him, not to experience the rolling and excitement of his alpha, within him, clamoring to see as far behind the walls as Yuri would let him.
</p><p>
The fact that Yuri let him <i>at all</i> was amazing in its own right, though, and Otabek was careful to savor each instance of it. That Yuri was willing to put himself out there, to open himself up to Otabek spoke volumes on how strong of a person he was, doubtlessly battered and bruised and endlessly beaten down by life but willing to keep trying, to continue to fight. He was guarded, absolutely, as any sane person would be in his situation, but he wasn’t unreachable, wasn’t cut off from others or impervious to their advances. Yuri could still trust, hadn’t been broken or lost the ability to be vulnerable. And Otabek wouldn’t change that, not so long as he could help it. Otabek pledged to himself, then and there, as he gently guided Yuri back to the topic of the mad scene and watched, helpless to the way his eyes shone, how animated he became, that, from him, Yuri would never be given cause to regret his ability to trust.
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I wrote this chapter in like two hours, finishing it five minutes ago. I am both A) very proud of myself for this, and B) so sorry because you can really tell. <i>*chants, desperately*: Christmas break is soon, Christmas break is soon, Christmas break is soon--</i></p><p>Comments and kudos, however undeserved, make me very happy! Leave some if you wish! ♥</p><p>ANYWHO: Check out my latest oneshot, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28186707">Prearranged</a>. It's Otayuri omegaverse, too, and if you want 12K of Yuri being an idiot and wanting a baby but refusing to communicate, look no further!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Recap chapter 8: Otabek and Yuri discuss the latter's grandfather, for a bit, Yuri gushes for a long time about ballet (<i>Giselle</i>, specifically), and Yuri reaffirms that he's only sharing pieces of himself to ensure that Mila is getting a good mate-- and for NO OTHER REASON. And I'm an asshole, so we end the chapter with Otabek practically glowing with pride that Yuri is opening up to him and that he's learning to trust him because he might like him back? Yay??? I'm not sorry. xD</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They only exhausted the <i>Giselle</i> conversation topic five minutes before the end of the showing. Yuri, despite himself and his interest in learning more about Otabek, mourned its loss.</p>
<p>He hadn’t had a chance to converse about ballet in ages, and Otabek’s willingness to have the plot of the show explained to him was a different kind of pleasure. He had asked, too, so Yuri’s humble demeanor was preserved, but he got to dissect (within the reasonable confines of conversation; somehow, he doubted Otabek would care to hear the exacting intricacies of the mad scene explained in loving detail) the production in a way he’d barely even realized he’d missed. </p>
<p>Still, though, they remained on the subject of dance, and Yuri got to find out a bit more about the life Mila would live in the near future, <strike>if</strike> when Yuri’s plan was successful. Which was why, maybe, Yuri became so fascinated by Otabek’s life in Philadelphia.</p>
<p>“Well, on the outskirts of Philadelphia,” Otabek clarified, “technically in New Jersey, but the city is only a bridge and a twenty minute car ride away.”</p>
<p>Ah, okay. Yuri guessed Otabek’s business was based in Philly, so it made sense that, even if he technically lived in a different state, his commute would be good. Mila would like that, he thought: she had always seemed like a night-life type of person to him.</p>
<p>“That must be helpful, since there’s so much centered in Philadelphia.” Yuri replied, diplomatically. Really, he wanted to ask about the Pennsylvania Ballet, if they had branched into international touring, yet, or if they remained excellent, but only regionally ranked, but that seemed too single-minded, at the moment; he’d have to remember not to bring up dance, for a while, after their extended discussion about <i>Giselle.</i> Yuri could tip one or two unimportant cards here and there, but the whole hand would be madness.</p>
<p>“It is,” Otabek nodded, “the best of both worlds, kind of? It’s nice to live in a small town, but suburbia could be kind of depressing without a family, if there wasn’t a city around.”</p>
<p>Yuri, honestly, couldn’t say he understood that, but agreed silently, anyway. He’d grown up in the slums of Moscow-- he couldn’t see why someone <i>wouldn’t</i> want a white picket fence and a life free of the compacted dirt and grime of the city, but he had never been to Philadelphia-- maybe it was nicer there. And he’d always had his grandpa, growing up; perhaps it<i> would</i> be depressing to be surrounded by happy, nuclear families if you yourself were totally alone. </p>
<p><i>Well,</i> said the little voice in Yuri’s head that he wasn’t entirely sure he liked, <i>he won’t be alone for long: Mila will be joining him, soon enough.</i></p>
<p>“It’s a good location, though,” Otabek continued, “I get both the farmers markets and the spontaneous street performing.”</p>
<p>Yuri blinked. <i>What?</i> “Farmers markets?” He asked. He was relatively familiar with street performances-- they happened in every major city, and he’d danced in a few of them during his time in Petersburg, but the farmers markets were new. In Moscow and Petersburg, where he’d lived, at least, they hadn’t been common; he couldn’t remember ever having been to one. Thinking about it now, that made him rather sad, though he couldn’t say why.</p>
<p>Otabek nodded, “They happen every week-- on Saturdays, I think. There’s fresh produce and local artisans have booths-- there’s even live music, in the evenings.”</p>
<p>That sounded nice, Yuri thought.</p>
<p>“They’re more family attractions,” Otabek explained, “so I’ve only been to a few, but when I’ve gone, they’re always really nice.” He shrugged, “The bicycle trail near my apartment is the usual spot for them, so they’re pretty hard to miss.”</p>
<p>Stuck for words, Yuri simply nodded, and crinkled the corners of his eyes in a small smile. Keeping an alpha happy required small assurances, now and then, Yuri knew well, and, even if he had nothing to say, a smile was often the difference between pacification and a worse outcome.</p>
<p>“You’d like them,” Otabek said suddenly, a little too loudly, enough so that Yuri knew he hadn’t been entirely decided on saying it before it had come out of his mouth. “The music is good and people dance, sometimes.”</p>
<p>“I’m sure,” Yuri replied, “a friend of mine used to go to markets like that, Mila, and she says they’re wonderful.” Otabek nodded, eyes bright, and Yuri smiled again, relief blooming warm in his chest. </p>
<p>
  <i>First mention went off without a hitch.</i>
</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>“Yuriiiii,” </p>
<p>Yuri neglected to look up from his work, squinting in the newfound brightness of his closet.</p>
<p>“You know you’re going to ruin your eyes if you keep working in the dark, dumbass.” Mila said, unceremoniously plopping down on a vacant spot on one of the mats and leaning back on her elbows, door still flung wide from her explosive entrance.</p>
<p>“That’s for future-Yuri to worry about,” Yuri replied, reaching across her to swat at the door, instinctively uncomfortable with it open, even if he had nothing to hide. Nothing he <i>could</i> hide, anyway.</p>
<p>Taking pity on him and his feeble, encumbered movements, Mila pushed him gently back down onto his place on a corner of one of the mats, rising partially from her slouch to pull the door closed, again. Despite her exuberance, Yuri knew she was just as uneasy as he was at the vulnerability fostered by an open door-- every omega in the house was, no matter how open about the matter they were.</p>
<p>“You really should give yourself more respect,” Mila said, sagely, as she sprawled out on the ground, once more, auburn locks falling in a crown around her head. She was so beautiful, so effortlessly, Yuri couldn’t help but think. If he had had any interest at all in girls, she would have been a no-brainer as an object of attraction: no one with eyes could miss the radiance with which she performed even the most mundane of tasks-- like flinging herself onto a dirty, dusty floor, for example. Otabek would love her, Yuri thought with a strange, bitter twist of satisfaction. “It’s vaguely concerning how little you care about your physical wellbeing.”</p>
<p>Yuri shrugged, though he didn’t roll his eyes. “I care enough,” he replied, even as he squinted in the dull orange light of the lamp inches away from him to see the tiny thread work he was completing. </p>
<p>He <i>did </i>care enough, he thought. He ate, as much as was possible, when it was possible. And it wasn’t like he went out of his way to harm himself. Sure, he’d nicked himself while chopping onion for lunch or accidentally dropped a dumpling in a pot of water with too much vigor, boiling water splashing up and scalding his skin, but he didn’t overtly hurt himself. He wouldn’t-- especially not when any bodily harm he sustained (food and water deprivation included, though he didn’t have much control over those factors) would affect the baby. He refused to jeopardize it, whatever he did.</p>
<p>“Oh really?” Mila’s voice was skeptical, “To most people, that would include concern for future blindness brought on by, oh, I don’t know, <i>sewing in the dark?”</i></p>
<p>“I have a lamp, baba,” and, <i>yes,</i> ideally precision needlework would be done in bright lighting, but Yuri made do, and if he’d stabbed himself in the fingers multiple times, what did it matter? A pinprick of blood on the pad of his finger did absolutely nothing to the baby, so, subsequently, Yuri couldn’t find it within himself to care beyond inserting said finger into his mouth and sucking until the bleeding stopped.</p>
<p>“Small mercies,” Mila muttered, rolling her eyes, but ceased her assault on the topic. Instead, she chose to zero in on what she knew to be Yuri’s jugular. “So,” she began, in a lofty voice that immediately had Yuri on edge, “your boyfriend was at the showing, today.”</p>
<p>Yuri internally groaned, keenly aware of her angle and misguided beliefs on the subject, but at least this way Yuri could work on his case. That was something, he supposed, even if her phrasing gave him the inexplicable urge to wring her neck.</p>
<p>“Yes, Otabek was there,” Yuri replied, wearily, “and before you start on it, <i>yes,</i> we talked.”</p>
<p>Mila’s smile was sharp, victorious, almost like a predator going in for a kill she knew was inescapable. “So you admit it!” She crooned, “you’re <i>still</i> seeing him! You can’t say this is nothing but philosophy-based!”</p>
<p>Yuri jabbed the needle into what he thought was the felt edge of a flower design on the parasol, but was actually his thumb, and he swore under his breath.</p>
<p>“I never denied it,” Yuri replied, narrowing his eyes in the darkness and bringing his wounded finger to a few millimeters away from his face to gauge whether it was bleeding or not. He didn’t want to keep sewing and get blood on the parasol; it had happened before and, <i>god, </i>was it hell to clean up. “And we <i>do</i> discuss things besides philosophy-- it’s not exactly a secret.” Although exactly <i>what</i> was on the agenda of their conversation topics was not to be admitted.</p>
<p>Yuri could practically <i>feel</i> Mila’s catlike smirk, even if his eyes once again focused on his needle work, now he’d staunched the small blood flow from his thumb. “What else do you two discuss?” Her voice was <i>entirely</i> too suggestive for the conversation. Yuri shot a glare at her, aware she wouldn’t be able to see it.</p>
<p>“Philadelphia,” Yuri replied, “he lives there-- or close, anyway. Mentioned farmers markets and street dancing.”</p>
<p>“Philadelphia?” Mila’s smile was audible. “I’ve been there! Once, before I presented, my parents took me to the famous art museum-- it was beautiful.”</p>
<p>“Art in museums is almost never interesting.” Yuri said, scornfully. It wasn’t like ballet or more modern art (though <i>not </i>modern art-- that was fucking ridiculous); museum art was all boring paintings by stuffy, old, white men who had never seen a willing partner in their life. It was decidedly dull, and Yuri, to this day, even after being dragged around famous galleries in France and the artists’ styles explained by pompous alphas in patronizing ways, couldn’t understand <i>how </i>people enjoyed staring at the same painting of a flower for forty minutes. Go outside, dammit, at least there there was <i>variety!</i></p>
<p>“No,” Mila shook her head fervently, “at the time, the museum was doing some sort of pop-art showing; all bright colors and cool shapes. Even <i>you,</i> the least appreciative connoisseur on the planet, wouldn’t hate it. Though I still maintain that the normal stuff in the museum is good-- that’s just you being immature and dismissive of classic masterpieces.” She perked up, evidently under the impression she possessed the conversation’s trump card and that she was about to play it. “I bet <i>Otabek</i> likes them.”</p>
<p>“I bet he does.” Yuri agreed blandly, tongue poking out between his teeth as he focused on unwinding a tangled thread from the front of the parasol he worked on-- a bead was stuck in the loop and if he accidentally tore it, he’d have to rework the <i>entire section.</i> It had already been an hour of work, and he wasn’t even done.</p>
<p>Yuri could see Mila’s point, though. Otabek <i>did</i> seem the exact type to spend forty-five minutes in front of an old lady in a grey dress because, ‘the brushwork! The paint blending! The <i>finesse!’.</i> It was just another of the many, <i>many</i> reasons he and Mila would be good together; they could both appreciate the artistry of boring, oil paintings and visit museums of their own vocation, whereas Yuri had to be dragged to them kicking and screaming, blind to the beauty his tour guide was inevitably yammering on about.</p>
<p>“Still, though,” Mila sighed dreamily. When Yuri glanced in her direction, he could see from her vague mass in the darkness beyond the reach of the flickering lamplight that she had sat back against the wall, gazing forward. Yuri could imagine from her wistful tone, that she bore a faraway look in her eye, imagining a life in Philadelphia. A life she would have, though she didn’t know it, yet. “Philly is a nice city-- a good place to live, in my opinion, even if people make fun of it.”</p>
<p>Yuri hummed his assent, but Mila didn’t continue speaking. Yuri knew she was contemplating what a future in the city with the art museum would look like-- what, if Yuri was doing as well as he hoped, a future beside Otabek would. </p>
<p>Yuri stabbed himself in the finger, again, and let out a long sigh as a drop of blood bloomed dark against the light pink fabric of the parasol he was altering. He began to unwind the thread he’d spent the last hour and a half carefully constructing a lotus blossom from, and tried not to feel bitter about the fact that, in the foreseeable future, Mila had a ride out of this hellhole. </p>
<p><i>For Mila,</i> his mantra remained; though, deep down within him, nestled in the dark, hateful, frenzied place no one, not even himself, was allowed to see, he wished it could be <i>for me,</i> instead.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Okay, so they probably have farmers markets in Russia but <i>*gestures desperately, slightly chaotically*</i>, just accept it <i>for the sake of the story!</i> xD</p>
<p>I don't hate modern art <i>or</i> "stuffy, old paintings", I promise! But, honestly, I feel like Yuri would. *shrug*</p>
<p>Kudos and comments are ALWAYS appreciated and make me, as a person, glow for at least four hours after seeing them, so, if you wish to add to my bioluminescence, leave some! Thank you, as always, for reading! ♥</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter nine recap: Yuri completes a successful Mila name-drop on Otabek and they talk about Philadelphia and farmer's markets. Yuri is enchanted. We get some more details on how awful house life is, and Yuri mentions Philly to Mila, who remembers it fondly and fervently praises it. Yuri thinks with bitter, twisting satisfaction that his plan is going perfectly, but, even though he'll never admit it, he wishes his <i>"For Mila"</i> mantra was <i>"For Me"</i>, instead.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It happened, for the first time, in the middle of a Friday showing.  The conversation wasn’t particularly exciting, nor anything that could be classified as either affectionate or intimate, but perhaps it was that relaxed, easygoing atmosphere that fostered the event’s occurrence.</p>
<p>A singular word; simple, really, only two syllables. To most onlookers, it was far from a big deal; to Otabek, too, Yuri assumed, it was only a small matter. But to Yuri, who hadn’t been addressed this way in years, hadn’t been the recipient of even ostensible affection from an alpha in as long, hadn’t gotten such a strong shock as the one induced by this word in months, it was everything. </p>
<p>
  <i>Yura</i>
</p>
<p>“The cat still hates me,” the conversation had started with; an expositive, offhand comment from Otabek as he gingerly peeled off his glove and showed Yuri the hand that was scratched to hell and back. “I don’t know what I’ve done, but whenever I’m within three feet of him--” he curled his hand into a claw-like shape and mimed scratching. It was an effort for Yuri to refrain from outwardly showing amusement at the gesture. </p>
<p>“Cats can be temperamental,” Yuri agreed vaguely, nodding, and, after a moment’s consideration, allowing his lips to curl in a slight smile. </p>
<p>“Normally they like me, though,” Otabek elaborated, returning his glove to his hand and wincing vaguely as he did so. “I can’t figure out why Champagne, specifically, has it out for me.”</p>
<p>“You exist?” Yuri tried, before hurrying to add, “In my experience, sometimes the offense is more you being alive and taking up space than anything you’ve done.” Yuri shrugged slightly. </p>
<p>Otabek nodded, hanging on Yuri’s words as though he held the secrets of all cat behavior. A small surge of warmth bloomed in Yuri at Otabek’s intensity; he’d never known an alpha (a suitor, especially) to pay such a single-minded focus to him-- more often was it that Yuri seemed to hover in their metaphorical peripheral vision; present, but inconsequential; paying attention, but never receiving it. This, just another facet of the general <i>oddness</i> of Otabek, was a nice change of pace.</p>
<p>Otabek laughed, then, as he realized that, more or less, what Yuri had said had been a joke; it was just a short, quiet thing, but the omega in Yuri’s chest preened. The warmth grew, and Yuri gave a small smile. </p>
<p>“That might be it, yes,” Otabek nodded, amusement sparkling in his eyes. “Maybe he can smell the dog on me.”</p>
<p>Venturing to raise one eyebrow, Yuri focussed on the only part of the sentence that mattered. “You have a dog?” Only, if one listened<i> very</i> hard, could the skepticism in his voice be heard.</p>
<p>“No, I’d like one, though,” Otabek shrugged, “I volunteer at the animal shelter every week, at home, and started at the one in town, a few days ago.”</p>
<p>The baby wiggled at the same time Yuri’s omega gave a shrill, excited squeal. <i>Otabek liked animals, too!</i></p>
<p>Yuri set a hand on his abdomen to calm the former, and thoroughly ignored the latter. “That’s good of you,” Yuri replied, honestly glad to hear this about Otabek. “I’m sure the workers need the help.”</p>
<p>Yuri wasn’t stupid-- he noticed the countless strays roaming the area around the house. The fence he was currently speaking to Otabk through went all the way around its property, so only the occasional starving kitten could get in, but Yuri would have had to be blind not to notice the animals wandering the town in droves. It made him want to take them all home, before he remembered that he didn’t have a home to go to. Didn’t stop him from slipping the luckier, skinnier, marginally braver kittens pieces of his dinner when he could, though.</p>
<p>Otabek smiled, ducking his head as a flush of pink dusted his cheeks. Yuri sympathized; it was cold out, and, while his parasol somewhat protected him, the gust of wind that had just rushed through must’ve hit Otabek in the face. </p>
<p>“It’s something to pass the time,” Otabek replied, and Yuri was beginning to think this man was humble to a fault. “I had to find something to do other than see you, Yura.”</p>
<p>Yuri’s heart stuttered to a halt. <i>Yura. </i></p>
<p>
  <i>“Pass the peas, Yura?”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Yura, that fouette is sloppy-- again!”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“I love you, Yura-- I’ll see you soon. I promise.”</i>
</p>
<p>He’d hadn’t heard that name said aloud in two years. And, suddenly, he realized just how much he’d missed it.</p>
<p>Apparently picking up on Yuri’s shock at being called his diminutive, Otabek’s eyes widened slightly, only realizing when faced with Yuri’s reaction what he’d done.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” Otabek said, immediately, “in Kazakhstan they speak Russian, too, and the diminutive just kind of comes to mind whenever I think about you. When I’m not paying attention, like when that alpha wouldn’t leave you alone, it just kind of…” he gestured; flustered, anxious, desperate, “It’ll never happen again.” He looked so nervous, and yet, without Yuri’s express <i>di</i>ssent, the omega within his chest was rolling and exuberant, some, newly-awoken part of his brain apparently glowing. </p>
<p>“No,” Yuri said, quietly, “it’s okay.”</p>
<p>“Oh,” Otabek visibly calmed, “are you sure? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” and still with that vaguely dreamy voice. Yuri had to get his shit together. “I-- I haven’t been called that in a long time,” Otabek opened his mouth to speak; Yuri interrupted him. “It’s nice.”</p>
<p>“Oh,” Otabek repeated, before clamping his mouth shut and nodding. And then opening it again, as his brain caught up to the fact that he probably should have responded, “good, then.”</p>
<p><i>Yes,</i> said the glowing section of Yuri’s brain, echoed fervently by his omega and its effusive delight, <i>it <b>is </b>good.</i></p>
<p>***</p>
<p>The gong had sounded, they had bid each other goodbye, and Yuri had returned, in his designated place at the tail end of the procession, to the drafty, marginally warmer interior of the house. And all with that small, new <i>“Yura”</i> echoing through his head. He had no right to be as stuck on the word as he was, Yuri thought as he dutifully collected the parasols, though he couldn’t say his focus was on his work. Still, though, he rationalized to himself, it made sense that the long-dormant part of his brain had lit up again under the apparent affection the name warranted, and, without any other stimulation, it refused to allow his thoughts to drift more than nominally to another subject. </p>
<p>Yes, Yuri was taking parasols and, with his customary care, ensuring that the several in his arms didn’t snag on each other’s beading, but mentally? <i>Yura, Yura, Yura, </i>played.</p>
<p>That was, until Sakura (and, really, who named their kid after a tree?) deposited her umbrella in his hands, dumping it on top of the others he was trying to put down instead of waiting like a civilized human being for him to be able to accept it, and said, in a carrying whisper as he stumbled, off-balance as it was and laden with clunky parasols, “God, look how big he is. He can’t even move!”</p>
<p>The mantra of his own name slowed as Yuri regained his footing, succeeding in his mission to place the parasols on the ground and embarking on the harrowing journey back up-- then stopped entirely as Hana, responding to her second, sniffed, “I’m still surprised they can find sizes big enough for him,” an airy gesture at his yukata, wrinkled and stretched where it jutted out over his stomach, “clothes as nice as those aren’t meant for <i>used</i> omegas.” </p>
<p>Yuri gritted his teeth. They were <i>robes,</i> dammit, they were adjustable at the waist. She wasn’t entirely wrong, though, as much as Yuri wished she was; yukatas were only ever used by omegas in matchmaking houses, only acceptable when adorning young, <i>untarnished</i> brides-to-be looking to attract suitors with the vibrant colors and, while still conservative, comparably pretty cuts. Omegas, once mated, simply <i>didn’t</i> wear them, anymore, their apparel instead the stuffier, more formal, and eternally constricting kimonos-- when they were allowed clothing, at all, that was. </p>
<p>No, yukatas <i>could</i> be found in maternity cuts, but it was very rare; they had to be special-ordered, and, if for some reason an alpha’s heart was positively <i>set</i> on his omega being adorned in a yukata and <i>only</i> a yukata, it would be expensive, seeing as the garment would have to be specially made. Needless to say, even if the omega owned one, they’d never be permitted to go out in it.</p>
<p>Because it was the ultimate shame, Yuri thought as he received the last few parasols thrust into his hands, to have an omega so clearly yours, made so by the visible presence of your child within them, apparently trying to attract a different suitor in garb that was only appropriate for house showings. The only thing at all that could measure up to this disgrace, would be for your omega not to be carrying <i>your</i> baby, at all. An argument that Yuri, sighing to say, had had to resort to against Mila’s insinuations about his and Otabek’s imaginary future, in the early days of their relationship, before Yuri had come up with his plan. </p>
<p>
  <i>It would never work, anyway, Baba. He would never mate me if he knew I was pregnant, or even that I had been, and there’s no way in hell that I’m giving up my baby.</i>
</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>The next time <i>Yura</i> came up, was the Monday following the showing at which it had made its first appearance. It stunned Yuri, despite the fact that he’d all but <i>asked</i> Otabek to continue calling him that.<br/>Either way, though, Yuri couldn’t exactly say that this showing was any less eventful than the first had been-- it couldn’t match the other blow-by-blow for moments in which Yuri’s omega did <i>things,</i> but it<i> could </i>create a tally that, if not won the non-competition between the showings, certainly designated this one to be a close runner up. Who knew, in the grand scheme of things, that nicknames were <i>such </i>a big deal? (Well, Yuri, being Russian, could put up a pretty good argument, but that was neither here nor there.)</p>
<p>But, when the conversation opened with <i>Yura,</i> the name was far from the last thing that made Yuri’s omega preen, his chest warm. <i>Yura</i>’s effects couldn’t be said to have lessened, but, lo and behold, there was another word in Otabek’s vocabulary that could, just as effectively, if not more, achieve the same results. If only Otabek would hurry up and <i>say </i>it.</p>
<p>“Well,” a hand rubbing against the back of Otabek’s neck, “I figure,” fingers scratching at his undercut, “since I have a nickname for you-- or, well, your diminutive, technically,” Yuri would’ve liked to say something reassuring, in another life. Or possibly tell him to spit it out (not that his hesitancy wasn’t endearing, in its own way, because it was). “You should probably have one for me.” Honestly, for all that build-up, it was not one of Otabek’s wilder suggestions. Not that Yuri could exactly point to one and say ‘there; very wild.’</p>
<p>“I agree,” Yuri replied, possibly too readily, but Otabek looked pleased in his slight surprise, anyway.</p>
<p>“My sister’s always called me ‘Beka’,” Otabek offered, tentative in apparent preparation for a violent, vulgarity-riddled rejection. (While this version of Yuri would never actualize Otabek’s fears, the memory of a past Yuri living in his head smirked, nodding slightly as if to claim the action as one he would readily commit.)</p>
<p><i>Beka, </i>Yuri tried it out in his mind, waving smirking used-to-be's from his head. It was nice-- a little cutesy and American for what Yuri had thought Otabek would allow himself to be called, but, going off Yuri’s ever-furthering perception of the man, he was just one giant teddy bear, and was probably soft enough to let most nicknames slide, given that they came from the ones he loved.</p>
<p>
  <i>And he asked <b>you</b> to call him that.</i>
</p>
<p>A beat of silence between them, before Yuri could push a ball gag into the mouth of the irritating, iridescent section of his brain, and reply to his conversation partner with an, “I like it,” and his disobedient, sadly sentient section of grey matter,<i> fuck off.</i></p>
<p>The grey matter did not, in fact, fuck off, because, if it did, Yuri would probably be in a <i>great</i> deal of trouble, but it did quiet, if not become fully silent. </p>
<p>Didn’t matter, anyway, Yuri knew. Otabek had said the nickname was from his sister, so he’d obviously had it for decades; while he’d likely accepted it at first because she was his sister and he loved her, he had doubtlessly grown used to the moniker, and the restrictions about who could say it had fallen away. Everyone he knew in America probably called him that, too, Yuri thought.</p>
<p>That day, though, when goodbyes left the couple’s lips, <i>Yura</i> was joined in its escapades around Yuri’s head by its newly recruited partner in crime, just as insistent and just as stimulating to Yuri’s omega as its fellow, <i>Beka.</i></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>T-Minus one chapter until <i>shit goes down!</i> I'm so excited. xD</p>
<p>Thank you guys for the comments, I have achieved firefly-mode! If you wish to brighten my iridescent self, kudos and further comments never go unappreciated! ♥</p>
<p>Read another work of mine here: <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28354800">"The Magic Letter 'O'"</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter 10 recap: Otabek accidentally calls Yuri 'Yura' and then offers 'Beka' as a nickname for him. Yuri learns that Beka volunteers at the local animal shelter and, once he returns to the house, is mocked for being 'fat.' That's it, I think?</p><p>Here we are, folks! The chapter where shit. Goes. Down. ;)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The day, much like the first 22 years of Yuri’s life, started out relatively well. Really, it was alarming, as a theme, how quickly things devolved. </p><p>There was nothing special about it, even in hindsight, as Yuri went through his routine. Up at the crack of dawn, making breakfast with Mila, enduring some taunt about his weight from the other omegas of the house, making lunch alone, and then off to the Monday showing; one of the only good things that could be attributed to life in the house was its complete reliance on schedules. Every day was the same, the only variation lying in the differences between showing days and non-showing days, and that only entailed a change in how Yuri spent his afternoons: whether he shivered in weather too cold for his clothing while enjoying conversation with Ot-- <i>Beka,</i> or he spent the time from 4pm to 6pm sequestered away in his closet, hidden from the rest of the house with Mila as occasional company.</p><p>No, the day was normal, and when Yuri pulled on his gloves, took up his parasol, and trooped out to the gardens, he was greeted by a pleased, only too fond smile, and an update on the situation with Champagne.</p><p>“I’ve discovered that if I stay away from the shelter for 48 hours before going to my sister’s house, and keep a crinkling bag in my pocket, he doesn’t attack!” Otabek announced with some glee.</p><p>“I’m glad to hear it,” Yuri laughed, quietly, “getting mauled on a weekly basis certainly couldn’t have been good.”</p><p>“It wasn’t,” Otabek shook his head, “though Serena-- my niece--” he clarified, unnecessarily, “seemed a bit disappointed to be denied the pleasure of seeing me trying to detach her savage cat from my face.” Despite his complaint, though, his tone was fond. He seemed like a man who would be good with children.</p><p>“I’m sure she’ll manage without it,” Yuri replied, not bothering to hide the amusement in his tone, a parrot of Otabek’s, as it was. “Does she still like Dora? That might distract her.”</p><p>Otabek didn’t even get a chance to open his mouth before the gong sounded, and Yuri frowned as the former checked his watch, puzzled. It had barely been fifteen minutes, going by Yuri’s mental count, why on earth were they being called back inside?</p><p>Except they weren’t, Yuri realized, in the sort of underwater slow motion in which terrible things usually happened. There were only two occasions for which the gong would be rung: the beginning or end of a showing, or--</p><p>Or a match being made.</p><p>There, standing down the line of the fence in front of a slight, brunette woman, her parasol folded and held at her side, was Mila. </p><p>Yuri was going to be sick.</p><p>“What is it?” Otabek asked, confused. Of course, he wouldn’t have remembered-- he’d told Yuri that they didn’t have matchmaking houses in America, so, after so long away from Japan, he would have forgotten the custom. In the houses, there was one, <i>one</i> occasion on which a parasol could acceptably be lowered, and, of the same instance, one in which it <i>had</i> to be. </p><p>When an alpha claimed an omega, it was through, at first, only a verbal agreement, though a near-unbreakable one. In lowering their parasol, an omega showed themselves to the world, an indecent act unless they had been claimed or mated, in which case they were being shown off, arm-candy to their alpha. There was no proper way to come back from a fallen parasol if unmated, an omega’s reputation tarnished if scorned and blackened further if their proposed mate went to great lengths to detach themself from the former’s life, though Yuri honestly wasn’t sure which would be worse-- a rescinded match and therefore social disgrace, or a match forced upon an omega, their feelings about their mate null and void and their choice in the matter nonexistent.</p><p>Mila, however, had very clearly had a choice, or at least <i>thought</i> that she had, and was positively glowing as she stood before the brunette on the other side of the gate, who looked back at her with a radiance Yuri could remember seeing in only one alpha, in his life. And yet, despite Mila’s ebullient joy, Yuri felt his heart slow to a stop with a deafening thud, ice trickling down his spine.</p><p>This was it: there was no going back, now. Once the parasol fell, an omega was bound to their alpha, irrevocably, unless a wallet could speak more loudly than Japanese -- or Russian, for that matter -- law. Had Mila made the right choice? Clearly, she wanted this match, but was it a good one? Mila had mentioned many admirers over the months they’d known each other, had been cast aside shamelessly by each one-- was this more of the same? Yuri racked his brain, searching for some, offhand comment Mila might have made over the past few weeks that he had<i> missed,</i> coming up empty handed.</p><p>How had he let this happen? How had he ignored the signs, the signs that<i> must </i>have been there, and allowed his friend, his vulnerable, naive, unfailingly <i>wonderful </i>friend, to get too close to an alpha, to let them mate her before they could lose interest? </p><p>And now she was stuck, bound to them for the rest of her life, or to suffer something not far from Yuri’s fate, which he wished on no one-- least of all his best friend.</p><p>“Is that Mila?” Otabek asked when Yuri didn’t respond, still glued, wide-eyed and devastated, to Mila’s sparkling frame. Her yukata, made of soft lilacs and sakura pinks to accent her hair, swirled around her in the glistening, white snow, her curls bouncing as she moved forward and took her alpha’s hand through the fence. “Did something happen?”</p><p>Yuri wasn’t sure he could speak, right now. He wasn’t sure he could <i>breathe,</i> right now. Because, not only was Mila doomed to a life of hell, she had been <i>so close</i> to something good-- something <i>everyone wanted. </i>It had all been for nothing.</p><p>“Yura, are you alright?” Concern. He’d been silent too long.</p><p>“Yes,” Yuri unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “That’s Mila,” and Otabek <i>remembered her,</i> too, from the <i>one time</i> Yuri had pointed her out as a friend of his, when he’d still had the vain hope that he could ensure both their happiness. “She’s been claimed.”</p><p>“Oh,” apparently the word had jogged his memory. Otabek smiled in that Otabek-way of his that did almost nothing to his face, but still somehow managed to convey <i>so</i> much warmth. At any other time, it made Yuri’s heart flutter, his omega preen and swoon, occasionally even coincided with a few kicks from the baby. Now, he just felt frozen, fluid, yet immersed in an inescapable block of ice. “Good for her! That’s great… isn’t it?” The concern was back. </p><p>For once, Yuri didn’t care if he seemed rude, didn’t have the energy nor the presence of mind to; he turned back to Mila, feeling something inside his chest cracking as he took in her flushed cheeks, dazzling smile. “Yes,” he said numbly, “it is.”</p><p>***</p><p>Mila found Yuri, that night. He hadn’t seen her all day, which wasn’t unusual, but had been further cut off from her by the gaggle of giggling omegas perpetually around her, their shrill voices begging to know <i>all about </i>her mate.</p><p>The papers had been signed, according to what Yuri had overheard Mila telling them; Sara -- the alpha, he took it -- had walked right into the building and completed them with a matchmaker, the second the showing had ended. </p><p>Mila was set to leave in the second week of January.</p><p>She found him, after dinner, locked away in his dingy, little cupboard and pricking his fingers over and over again while getting nothing done on the lime green parasol he was supposed to be adding beading to. The door was pushed open, and Yuri didn’t even have to look up from his sewing to know who it was. Even if he was wrong, there wasn’t anything the guards could do to make him feel worse, tonight.</p><p>When she came in, she moved as though she were floating, in a dream. Strangely, she reminded Yuri of something he’d seen in another lifetime; a movie, maybe, some kind of soundtrack. He didn’t pursue the memory. </p><p>Mila sank down onto one of the mats, her yukata pooling around her in a sardonic imitation of a Disney princess. With the blissful, lovestruck look on her face, it fit right in. “Did you hear?” She breathed, turning starry, hope-filled eyes on Yuri, pressed into a corner and seated on the exposed boards of the flooring. “I’m mated, Yuri. I finally found my alpha.”</p><p>Yuri wanted to roll his eyes, but remained still, gaze stubbornly fixed on the now blood-spotted canvas of green he was working fruitlessly on. <i>Soulmates. Bullshit.</i> But it was just more of the same-- however shrewd she could be when she wanted to, Mila was a hopeless romantic, and, despite Yuri’s desperate, borderline pleading hopes, she had chosen to stick her head in the sand and wait for the loving caress that would never come. </p><p>He’d hoped she could remain like that -- sweet and naive and woefully optimistic -- but now he knew better. She’d have to grow up, now, be made wise to the ways of the world whether she liked it or not. He wasn’t sure he could ever forgive her for that.</p><p>“She’s wonderful,” Mila went on, paying no mind to Yuri’s lack of response, “even you, cynic of cynics, would like her. She’s smart and funny and kind-- she has such beautiful eyes, Yuri! Just so expressive.” </p><p><i>Expressive eyes, huh? </i>Yuri’s mind whispered, as if to fill his silence in the one-sided conversation.</p><p>“And she loves me, Yuri, she really does. After all this time, she’s what I’ve been waiting for-- I knew it as soon as I saw her.” At last, she seemed to notice that she was talking, for all intents and purposes, to herself. “Yuri?”</p><p>Yuri could see her turn to look at him more closely through the dark and the dim, the eternally cramped space shrinking incrementally as her gaze bored into him. The smooth of her forehead wrinkled slightly.</p><p>“Oh, come on,” she tried, reaching across the few foot gap to shove his shoulder slightly. “Don’t be like that!” </p><p>Still no reaction from him, and she let her hand drop, sobering some.</p><p>“I know you don’t approve," she said, more quietly. “I know you think this is just another false alarm-- I’ve had enough of them,” the joke fell flat. “But it’s not. Sara isn’t like that. She’s good to me,” she continued in a whisper, almost pleading, “she’s not like the others. I just <i>know </i>she isn’t.”</p><p>
  <i>And you’re historically <b>such</b> a good judge of character. </i>
</p><p>“She loves me, she <i>asked</i> me if <i>I </i>wanted to mate, she said she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she forced this on me.”</p><p>
  <i>Well, wasn’t that refreshing. A nice lie to change things up a bit. No alpha ever thought like that-- never even pretended to.</i>
</p><p>“Yuri,” her voice was soft, “please. Talk to me.”</p><p>The silence stretched long.</p><p>Yuri wasn’t sure why he wouldn’t speak to her, why he couldn’t find it in himself to turn and look her in the eye-- hell, look at her <i>at all,</i> if only to curse her out. He wanted her to understand the severity of what she’d done! He wanted her to understand the extent of misery to which she’d doomed herself! He wanted her to <i>grow the fuck up-- </i>to understand that life wasn’t a fairy tale, that people were terrible, alphas worse, and that she <i>had</i> to be careful with herself if she wanted to survive. He wanted her to realize that, because of one stupid, rash decision, <i>he</i> was her fate.</p><p>But she wouldn’t. She <i>couldn’t,</i> because she was Mila, and she had lived a nice, cushy life, was a matchmaker’s pet, and only saw the good in the world. And he<i> loved her</i> for it, but he wished<i> so desperately</i> that she would learn these lessons in any way other than experiencing them herself. He’d vowed to himself months ago, decades ago, it felt like, that he wouldn’t let anyone take that wonderful joy from her-- so what did he do, now that she’d taken it from herself?</p><p>Mila sighed, heavy, and long, and full of understanding of the wrong kind-- she knew that Yuri was upset, hell, she knew <i>why,</i> but she didn’t<i> know</i> why, though she soon would. But she spoke, anyway, her voice quiet, compassionate, but steadfast. “I know you don’t get it, but the thing is, I think I finally do. All of those other alphas, they were just… flings. With Sara… it sounds silly, but it was love at first sight, and, even before I knew her name, I just <i>knew.” </i>Out of the corner of his eye, Yuri could see her give a small shrug, smile slightly. “She’s the one for me," She said simply, and waited a few beats before standing with a sigh. Slowly and resigned, she walked the few paces to the door, her palm resting heavily on the handle. “I’m leaving January 13th,” she said, “just so you know. I didn’t want to go before you had the baby, and I thought you’d like to know that Sara and I are taking this slowly-- one step at a time, just like you would.”</p><p><i>‘And how are you talking it slowly if you’ve mated after knowing each other only a few weeks?’ </i>Yuri would like to say, but even in his mind, it felt cold. A little bit colder for the fact that she was waiting to leave for him, spending three weeks at the house unnecessarily in the hopes of being there for him when he would need her. It didn’t matter that she’d misjudged the time, that the baby wouldn’t be due until well into February-- she’d tried, and that was more than Yuri ever would've expected.</p><p>Mila sighed again, and stepped through the door. “You can always talk to me, when you’re ready.” The click of the latch was loud in a room that suddenly felt too big.</p><p>Yuri put down his needle, leaned his head against the wall, and tried to blink the tears from his eyes.</p><p>***</p><p>The days passed, Mila tried to talk to him in the mornings, and Yuri didn’t speak one word to her, hadn’t since she’d thrown her life away. It wasn’t easy, and he caught himself too many times about to say something, or looking over to flick some dough at her, before going back to work again, stony. It didn’t get easier. But then, Yuri needed to relearn how to be alone.</p><p>And to think that, at one point, he’d been good at it. </p><p>It was weird, the effect the lack of Mila had on the house-- or, at least, Yuri’s<i> perception </i>of the house. It had never been home, and he had never felt safe there, but without Mila it was… dimmer. The light reflecting off the snow continued to blind him, sure, but things were darker, dreary, a type of grey that Yuri knew he spent most of his life shrouded in.</p><p>It was exhausting, in a way, to live without social interaction beyond jagged insults and pointed, venomous comments made in carrying whispers. It was a relief when Thursday came and Yuri got to put on his hanten, more excited than he ever had been to see Otabek, to speak to him. Still, though, as eager as he was to emote with another human being, he found himself drifting away from the conversation, tossed about on the seas of stormy thoughts and distanced from what had once been his bright spot, his star of hope. With the possibility of Mila and Otabek ending up together wrenched away from him, in the absence of anything to work for, to devote himself to, mind and body, the way he had thrown his entire being into ballet, he felt… lost. He hadn’t felt this lost in a long time.</p><p>But that wasn’t to say he had nothing to think about, that he was without words to dwell on and theories to obsess over. It was probably unhealthy, he could admit, but dammit if he wasn’t going to find <i>some </i>way to control a matter over which he had power.</p><p>Throughout the showing, the first since Mila had met her downfall, three days ago, Yuri found himself losing his train of thought, fading away from the thread of the conversation. Otabek, for his part, was trying valiantly to continue on with it despite Yuri’s blatant preoccupation, and was in the middle of yet another attempt to engage him, talking about the ballet he’d seen the night before (had he said it was <i>The Nutcracker,</i> with Christmas looming fast on their heels? Or maybe <i>Swan Lake, </i>another classic?), when Yuri cut right across his speech, a faltering dialogue about the lead ballerina’s headpiece (bedecked in feathers, was it? Or rhinestones? Maybe sequins).</p><p>His voice sounded reedy and just a little bit desperate to his own ears, but Otabek heard him and quieted instantly, attentive, his eyes glittering with concern.</p><p>“Have you--” Yuri began, “Do you think that ‘love at first sight’ can be called a philosophy? Do you think there’s any truth behind it?”</p><p>Otabek studied him for a long moment, searching. “Yeah,” he said, gently but firmly, “I do.”</p><p>Yuri nodded, turning it over in his head. He didn’t think he believed in anything as perfect as the concept of true love -- it was something from a fairy tale, not reality -- but hearing another opinion on it, from a source who certainly had more reason to believe in the goodness of things than Yuri, and yet remained grounded, made it something to think about, if not subscribe to. Otabek and Mila really would have been perfect for each other, Yuri thought; with her rainbows and his sunshine, they’d probably spawn unicorns, or something.</p><p>Yuri nodded, Otabek’s eyes on him. “Thanks.”</p><p>Otabek seemed on the cusp of asking something, but stopped, merely nodding and replying, “No problem.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Shit. Went. Down. </p><p>I'd love to hear your opinions on this chapter! Has Mila made a horrible mistake? What do you think of Yuri's refusal to speak to her? Thoughts on or predictions for what the hell Yuri's going to do now? Let me know!</p><p>Kudos and comments, <i>especially</i> on this chapter, are always received with exponential amounts of joy! Leave some if you wish to indulge this author, and thank you for reading! ♥</p><p>ALSO: I'm writing so much, wtf? My new multichapter fic, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28661727/chapters/70262037">"Raindrops and ... Strudel?"</a>, is also Otayuri, complete, and to be updated every Saturday. (It also includes several things those who read this fic might look for! ;) ) Check it out if you wish!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter 11 recap: A BIG BOY. Mila essentially mates to some unknown alpha *cough, Sara, cough* and Yuri flips the fuck out because she's A) fucked up his plans, and B) doomed herself to a life of misery. Naturally, instead of talking it out like an adult, Yuri chooses to have a mental breakdown and refuse to speak to her, in true canon-compliance. Mila tells him about Sara being her true love and Yuri internally scoffs and is extremely cynical, though he later consults Otabek about the theory, asking Otabek whether he thinks it can be called a philosophy, whether he's ever experienced love at first sight/true love. "Yes."</p><p>The dream scene you're about to read has been floating around my brain for MONTHS. I'm so glad it's finally out in the world! Lol.</p><p><b>EDIT (1/20/21):</b> I forgot to mention when posting this chapter that at the end, there is a discussion of rape. It's not graphic at all, they don't even use the word, but please proceed with the necessary caution. There is now a summary of the section in the end notes, and, if you think you need to skip it, stop reading at the final chapter break followed by "The snow had melted, finally..."</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <i>Yuri hummed slightly, drifting along the precipice between wakefulness and sleep, and luxuriated in his melty state, warm and secure beneath the plush covers of the bed. He couldn’t quite decide whether he wanted to be awake, yet, as comfortable as he was currently, and teetered on the edge of the decision, swaying from one side to the other as, each in turn, dreams overtook him, and his natural clock pulled him back to the surface. After however long, the scales tipped in the favor of being awake, and, though Yuri pushed his face further into his pillow, he didn’t entirely resist the light touches of hands on his back and shoulder, a body curling around him as smells of breakfast wafted through the presumably open bedroom door.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Still, though, Yuri wasn’t <b>quite</b> ready to get up, just yet, and remained still, though a smile teased at his lips as a different pair moved along the back of his neck, around his jaw.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“I know you’re awake,” came a soft voice, and the smile won a forfeited battle. Of course he knew-- he always seemed to. “If you get up, there are beignets downstairs,” the soft, vaguely seductive voice whispered again.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“I’m comfy,” Yuri murmured, though he was steadily growing too hot with both the blankets and the body wrapped around him. “Five more minutes.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>A kiss on the nape of his neck. “It’s already been fifteen,” Had it? Yuri didn’t remember, though the times he had been vaguely lucid might well have been accompanied by the low harmony of a male voice and an alpha’s pheromones. “Have to wake up eventually.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“No.” Yuri’s smile widened as his husband laughed, and grew even further as he felt the third member of their family join in the conversation.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Yuri huffed as the baby kicked twice at an area he hadn’t known existed inside of him, and a hand met his on his pronounced abdomen, worming its way under the covers to rest against the thin material of Yuri’s nightshirt, just over the spot the baby was kicking.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“You’ve been outvoted,” Yuri was informed, “we both think you should wake up, and I add to my case the fact that our daughter is hungry, and it is therefore your responsibility to feed yourself to feed her.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Yuri gave a mock groan, “I hate being outvoted.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“You’ll have to get used to it,” a gentle nip behind his ear, “Lilliana will only get more opinionated as she gets older.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“And you?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“I will unfailingly side with her.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“You already do,” Yuri rolled his eyes, though he adjusted his head so it rested against his mate’s chest, tilted back with golden hair falling in disheveled waves from its crown. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“You’re just proving my point,” a kiss was placed on his temple, “it’ll only get worse. So you might as well accept your fate and come downstairs for breakfast.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Yuri groaned theatrically, though he turned his head all the way to meet his husband’s eyes. “If I must.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“And you must.” The weight that had been behind him disappeared, and Yuri followed his husband’s motions as he walked around the bed, coming to stop at Yuri’s side and throwing the covers back. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“I hate you.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“I love you, too,” he captured his lips in a long, slow kiss. “Good morning, Yura.” Hands carded through his hair.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Yuri leaned into the touch, as he did every Saturday morning when they went through this routine, and moved his head so he could kiss the wrist the hand was attached to. “Good morning, Beka.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Yur--</i>
</p><p>Yuri woke with a start, gasping and fumbling blindly to cover his face as something soft but relatively firm rebounded off it. </p><p>“Whore!” A voice yelled, and, instinctively, Yuri tucked his body into the most compact form he could while tangled in two blankets, just barely awake, and sporting a hefty hindrance of an abdomen.</p><p>“What?” He mumbled blearily, thoroughly disoriented and still sheltering from any more possible projectiles as he fought to open his eyes further.</p><p>It was dark in the dormitory, when his brain was working enough to register what he was seeing, but the kind of bright darkness that came with the early hours of the morning, just before or hardly after dawn broke, depending on the season. The black shapes around Yuri were beds, most of their occupants blinking or sitting up at the commotion. Next to Yuri’s cot a crumpled, clearly fallen pillow lay, apparently having been thrown from across the room where, Yuri realized, one of the other omegas sat in bed, glaring daggers at him, though what for he had no idea.</p><p>Yuri only realized a moment later, when he started to sit up, why he’d started his day with an assault. He was hard, he found when he shifted and felt a blanket drag over his dick, and, as that information registered, so did the thick scent of arousal in the air. That must’ve woken the others, and, while he would’ve certainly <i>appreciated</i> being shaken -- or even <i>shouted</i> -- awake to having had a pillow heaved at him, he wasn’t entirely surprised. It was rare that one of the omegas in the house had wet dreams, rarer still that it be a member of the fifth rank, but they weren’t handled well-- if Yuri’s scent had spread, attracted the guards, they would’ve all been in trouble.</p><p>Yuri let out a low, ragged sigh and dropped a hand down, squeezing his balls and biting his lip as his erection faded under the pain. Gingerly, he rolled over in bed, and, as the rest of the omegas in the dormitory went back to sleep, tried to remember what he’d been dreaming about that had caused <i>such</i> a reaction.</p><p>He was nearly asleep again, some time later, when he jerked back to consciousness, eyes wide as he realized what his dream had been.</p><p>As morning crept closer, the lightening sky sending tendrils of pale luminescence into the room, Yuri wished he hadn’t.</p><p>***</p><p>As luck would have it, and as Yuri’s luck <i>unfailingly</i> did, the next day -- or, really, later <i>that</i> day -- there was a showing. Honestly, even the ones from the very beginning included, this was the weirdest showing-with-Otabek that Yuri had ever experienced. While he was still a bit of a mess, missing Mila and excited at the prospect of <i>any</i> human contact, especially some so pleasant, Yuri was also shaken from the night’s dream, trying desperately not to think too hard about what it may have meant, and absolutely<i> certain</i> that it had been caused by hormones. <i>Of course</i> Otabek, innocent <i>(entirely unattractive, completely undesirable)</i> Otabek, would’ve been its subject-- he was the only viable candidate, after all.</p><p>The guards terrorized all of the omegas in the house, Yuri had given alphas a wide berth before his presentation on principle (and because they were snobby, fucking bastards), and the alpha from <i>before-- </i></p><p>Yuri didn’t think about him. Ever. And yet, if, somehow, he managed to enter Yuri’s subconscious, the dream he starred in wouldn’t be a pleasurable one.</p><p>So, yes, Otabek was the only option for sexual fantasy, the only feasible candidate to be salivated over, the only alpha Yuri had ever met who was a <i>decent </i>human being. And, with his hormones doing their damnedest to throw Yuri so far out of whack that he could’ve reached Jupiter in ten seconds or less, the <i>occurrence </i>of the wet dream couldn’t be called the <i>biggest</i> shock. </p><p>It meant absolutely nothing, Yuri knew. <i>Beyond</i> nothing. <i>Less than</i> nothing. Literally, negative-fucking-four on the does-it-matter? scale. And yet, despite how much Yuri<i> knew</i> the dream was meaningless, his interaction with Otabek later that day was practically steeped in awkwardness. </p><p>Oscillating, vaguely fretfully, between lively conversing and uncomfortable silence, Yuri spent the majority of the duration of that showing reinforcing Otabek’s doubtlessly perpetually half-formed opinion of his insanity. And, only worsening matters, Yuri kept catching sight of Otabek’s small smiles, the fond, unquestionably<i> affectionate</i> look in his eyes as he spoke with Yuri; kept catching <i>himself </i>smiling at Otabek’s remarks, laughing softly at his several jokes, deriving satisfaction from the energetic air Otabek took on when he began to debate Yuri’s remark about Schrodinger's Cat, because <i>that</i> had come up.</p><p>“I agree, it’s a good theory,” and yet contradiction was brewing in his tone, “but, practically speaking, the cat <i>must</i> be alive! Theoretical concept or not, if a live cat is placed in a box, excluding the presence of exceptional circumstances, when the box is opened, the cat will remain alive. It’s only logical.”</p><p>“But in saying that, you’re not abiding by the rules of the experiment,” Yuri argued, set in his beliefs. “The whole point is that <i>logic </i>cannot be defined as clearly as you think-- we say that a live cat plus air plus a box to hide in for a set period of time will equal a live cat, as per the data we’ve recorded, but what if, just <i>once, </i>the same variables equal a dead cat? Logic changes. The cat could be dead-- you wouldn’t know until the box is opened!”</p><p>“You do realize that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different outcome?” Yuri rolled his eyes and Otabek laughed. “Just thought you could use a reminder.”</p><p>“You’re just saying that because you don’t want to be wrong,” Yuri challenged, biting his lip to refrain from smiling as Otabek shrugged, though the light of competition burned in his eyes.</p><p>“Maybe that’s true, but you’re deflecting by pointing it out, so you must know that there’s no stock in your argument, either.”</p><p>“But there is stock in it,” Yuri persisted, unwilling to be beaten, “you can’t just deny a whole theory. Look,” he tried a new angle, “we say that most things in life can be seen as shades of grey-- complicated concepts where yes/no answers don’t exist. Now, consider that the reason there aren’t yes/no answers for them is because they are <i>both</i> answers for them, and both are correct, though one is more universally accepted. That’s true. <i>And,</i> that same idea can be applied to Schrodinger's Cat: the cat is alive and dead at the same time, hidden and unknown within the box, but once the box is opened and the cat is forced to consign itself to a singular state of being, it chooses life -- the statistic we currently have -- but was <i>dead, too,</i> for as long as it was in the box. Ergo, as the first example is true, it only, <i>logically,”</i> Yuri put extra emphasis on the word, “follows that the second is, too.”</p><p>Otabek thought on this, nodding slightly as he considered, and Yuri felt proud. “You definitely used at least one logical fallacy in there.” </p><p>Yuri shrugged. “I still made my point.”</p><p>Otabek laughed, shaking his head, and Yuri found himself caught off-guard for the warmth that filled his chest as Otabek did so. And, more importantly, he found himself caught off-guard for the fact that he <i>liked</i> that warmth, that he wanted <i>more</i> of it.</p><p>The smile dropped off his face.</p><p>He couldn’t let this go on, he realized, very suddenly and with a bucket of ice to help the knowledge sink in. He couldn’t keep leading Otabek on without any intention of finding him a mate-- without being able to mate him <i>himself,</i> as Otabek so clearly wished. And, hormones or not (and they <i>were</i> just hormones) Yuri couldn’t allow himself to get used to the warm feeling that invaded him whenever Otabek smiled at something he’d said, couldn’t allow himself to <i>crave </i>it. </p><p>This had to end, and soon.</p><p>“How is your mother?” Perhaps Yuri’s question seemed out of the blue, but there it was.</p><p>“She’s well,” Otabek replied, though his brows creased almost imperceptibly and the happy look fell off his face in a manner almost<i> too</i> noticeable, replaced by confusion and the slight, seemingly omnipresent concern. “Thank you.”</p><p>“Of course,” Yuri nodded, “how is she taking your lack of finding a mate, despite all your time at these showings? Is she still asking you to attend?”</p><p>For the smallest, almost unnoticeable moment, shock flickered across Otabek’s face, along with an emotion that, for all Yuri’s time with the man it belonged to, recognized, but <i>desperately</i> didn’t want to name. “Yes,” Otabek said, after an extended silence. “She is.”</p><p>Yuri consigned himself to a singular nod, and the gong rang.</p><p>***</p><p>The snow had melted, finally, the last of the brownish slush rapidly soaking into not-quite-frozen ground and leaving the gardens of the house acceptable places to escape to, if only one could bear the cold. Yuri, for his part, had reached his breaking point regarding how foul weather he could stand weeks ago, but today, his closet didn’t provide the solace and comfort he sought. With the outside world marginally warmer, doubtlessly about to revert to the icy terrain of winter, Yuri gathered his courage and ventured from the warmth of the inside, steeling his resolve as frosty air hit him, with the mantra that he needed to think, and that his hidden bench was the most conducive place on the entire grounds to do so.</p><p>He didn’t expect, though, to find it occupied when he arrived.</p><p>Back to him, hanten clutched tightly around him and hair blowing in the bitter wind, sat the other male omega, the baby, the one that had so brazenly denied Yuri the solidarity that being in the minuscule minority of the house’s inhabitants should’ve provided him. And now the kid, because the term ‘baby’ was still too weird for Yuri, was on Yuri’s bench, and, going by the way his shoulders, lined with tension, shook softly, he was crying.</p><p>Yuri, honestly admitted, was tempted to walk away. He didn’t want a new omega under his wing, wasn’t a role model and had flagrantly failed his task of protecting the only other omega he’d decided to care for. He didn’t <i>need</i> this idiot who would doubtlessly ask his name and his life’s story, trying to know him or trying to slander him further in the house. But then Yuri saw the way the boy shifted on the bench, gave a full body flinch, and changed his positioning so his body weight rested on the side of his thigh. </p><p>Yuri had seen that exact same motion happen too many times, had <i>enacted</i> it himself too many times. He couldn’t walk away.</p><p>“You’ll stop bleeding soon,” the kid scuttled back, eyes wide and alarmed, as Yuri took a seat on the bench next to him, evidently not having heard him approach. “If you sit on your knees, it’ll help the pain.”</p><p>“What are you talking about?” The kid hedged, “How do you know I’m bleeding?”</p><p>If Yuri were a better human being, maybe more like Otabek or Mila, he would’ve turned this into an Obi-Wan kind of moment, hugged the kid and reassured him that it would be okay, that he didn’t have to play dumb because he was safe with Yuri. </p><p>“Do you honestly think you’re the first person this has happened to?” </p><p>The kid flinched, drawing back further.</p><p>Well, Yuri wasn’t an overly kind person, had had that kind of altruism beaten out of him in favor of survival early on, but he wasn’t heartless either. Yuri sighed, “It’s just a part of life here-- it happens to all of us. You get used to it, after a while.”</p><p>The kid’s eyes widened, blinking owlishly back at him with fear written so clearly across his face that Yuri couldn’t resist snapping,</p><p>“Don’t look so scared. If you’re marked out as an easy target, life gets much worse, much more quickly.”</p><p>A sharp nod, mumbled apology, then silence.</p><p>Slowly, after several moments in which they both just breathed, the kid relaxed some. He shifted, winced, and, slowly, transitioned so he knelt on the bench, instead. “I’m Minami,” he said. </p><p>“Yuri,” Yuri replied, before jerking his head down slightly, to Minami’s butt, where it rested gingerly on his heels. “Are you wearing a pad?”</p><p>Minami nodded, and Yuri felt a bit of relief-- if the kid had left blood spots on his underwear, it wouldn’t have been nice. “One of the omegas from the -- the first rank, I think they’re called? -- snuck me a heat pad; I think they use them for the slick, she said?”</p><p>Yuri nodded. Yeah, the matchmakers went to great lengths to ensure that the omegas, after their heats had finished and they were released from the heat rooms in the basement, didn’t ruin their clothing with the residual slick that was secreted for up to three days after the heat had ended. “That sounds right.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Minami brightened a little, “she gave me three-- just took them out of a box under her bed and told me to change them if I needed to, like it was no big deal. Do you know Mila? She’s really nice.”<br/>
Of course it had been Mila. Among the first rank’s many privileges, the women received sanitary products without having to undergo examinations to prove they needed them, as those from the fifth rank did, and Mila was the only one kind enough to help this trembling, waif-like child next to Yuri.</p><p>“Are you bleeding badly enough to need three?” Yuri asked instead of answering, unwilling concern threading itself through him. He’d never bled more than a few drops-- if this kid had been hurt to the extent that he would have to use <i>multiple</i> pads, there would be far more damage than the omegas of the house were accustomed to dealing with.</p><p>“No,” Minami shook his head, “but she gave me more than I would need, for--” he stopped, “for next time, she said,” Yuri nodded and the kid paled. “Is she-- is it true? That, that there’ll be a next time?”</p><p>“Yes,” Yuri sighed at Minami’s reaction to his words, reluctantly reassuring him, “it’s just a part of life as an omega. If you think there won’t be a next time, then you’re in for a rude awakening. But… it won’t always be this bad. You’ll probably always bleed, most do, but your body will adjust, somewhat, and it won’t be as scary if you know what to expect.”</p><p>“How can you say that?” The boy whispered, “How can you just be okay--”</p><p>“I’m not okay with it,” Yuri said sharply. “Look around you, no one is. But you grow up, toughen up, and you fucking survive, because there’s nothing else to do. You can’t let them see how afraid you are, and you don’t fight them, got it? That only makes it worse.”</p><p>Minami nodded shakily, and Yuri looked pointedly away as he blinked furiously, forcing the tears from his eyes.</p><p>“Who was it?” Yuri asked, when he could think of no other wisdom to impart and was curious enough to pry. </p><p>“Eiji.” </p><p>Yuri winced sympathetically. Eiji was one of the roughest guards-- and, Yuri suspected, one of the most sadistic, too. “They’re not all as bad as him. Akari cums more quickly and Daisuke likes to prepare you, even if it’s badly. Stay away from Fumihiro, though, he’s worse than Eiji and has the stamina of a bull.”</p><p>“Thank you,” Minami nodded like a bobble head. Yuri was beginning to wonder if the kid had any other setting. </p><p>“Don’t thank me,” Yuri replied, “it’s the truth.”</p><p>They sat in silence for a while longer, Minami shifting on his knees occasionally and Yuri trying to ignore the way his back hurt from sitting in this position for so long. Eventually, the baby did a strange sort of somersault within Yuri and kicked him in what seemed to him like pride. Yuri set a hand on his abdomen, rubbing it gently and soothing the spot in which he’d been kicked. His kid was getting too damn strong, though he couldn’t say he’d have it any other way.</p><p>“Is that what happened to you?” Yuri looked up and found Minami watching him, eyes on his abdomen where it rested on Yuri’s thighs as he leaned slightly back on the bench. He spoke again, slowly. “Did a guard--”</p><p>“No,” Yuri said, more curtly than was probably wise. He exhaled before he spoke again. “This isn’t a guard’s.”</p><p>“Oh,” Minami said, at length. Then, “Did you have a boyfriend, before you came here? Is he coming to get you out?” He looked so eager, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed with hope for a love story and a rescue. </p><p>This place would crush him.</p><p>“No,” Yuri replied softly, resolved. “No one will get me out.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p><b>SUMMARY:</b> Yuri goes outside because he needs to think and his closet just isn't doing it, today. He finds the other male omega (Minami) sitting on his bench, and approaches when he recognizes the way he's sitting, indicative of either sex or rape. He knows which one it is, given the circumstances. He advises him (gruffly but kindly) on how to deal with it, hears how Mila helped Minami (she gave him a heat pad to catch any residual bleeding), and educates him on the ways of the house. At the very end, Minami asks Yuri if his baby is one of the guards', to which Yuri responds no. He then asks if it's his boyfriend's, if Yuri's boyfriend is going to get Yuri out of the house, to which Yuri also replies "no."</p><p>Hi, hello, don’t kill me. I’m not a philosopher and Yuri’s argument came entirely from my own brain-- I give <i>zero</i> guarantees that it is right, but it’s what I have. If you<i> are</i> a learned philosopher, I invite you to correct my interpretation of the Schrodinger’s Cat question in the comments (just don’t be mean, please!), though, as this is <i>argument, </i>I technically have nothing to apologize for, as the two points the characters advocate are subjective opinions. xD</p><p><b>ALSO IMPORTANT UPDATE: </b>There will not be a new chapter posted next week (01/26/21) because midterm week exists and I just don’t have the time to dedicate to another fairly important chapter. <b>My apologies, but chapter 13 will be posted on 02/02/21. </b> Thank you for your patience! ♥</p><p>Thank you so much for reading, and, if you feel so inclined, for kudos and commenting, too! I'd love to hear your thoughts on Minami (Thoughts on how Yuri handled him? How is my interpretation of his character? Do you want to hug him, because I DO!), on Yuri's past (we get some hints about the baby's other father, in this chapter!), and about his interactions with Otabek (thoughts on the dream? Opinions about how he handled it? Want to bang his head against a wall until he wises up? ME TOO!). Comment if you wish to indulge me! XD</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter twelve summary: THE DREAM. Yuri dreams about being mated/married to Otabek and having his babies, is woken by a pillow to the face when the other omegas in his dorm smell his arousal at the dream. (And, no, it wasn't a sexy dream, so Yuri is left to wonder why he was aroused????) At the showing, the next day, Yuri and Otabek argue about Schroedinger's Cat and I fail miserably at trying to come up with Yuri's counter-argument. Yuri then realizes that he's *gasp* falling for Otabek (in so many words) and asks abruptly if Otabek is still being forced by his mother to come to the showings. An awkward silence, and Otabek, visibly hurt, nods yes. Later, Yuri needs to think so he goes outside and finds Minami (the second male omega) on his bench. He's been raped, and they have a little bonding moment in which Yuri gives him some advice on how to survive in the house. The chapter ends when Minami asks if the baby is Yuri's boyfriend's, if he's coming to take Yuri away from the house, and Yuri responds with "no" to both questions.</p><p>I lied. xD This chapter was finished so I saw no reason not to post it, though this is still midterm week and next week's chapter may be pushed back. In that eventuality, I will post an update on Tuesday the way I did when I last pushed an upload date, and will post the chapter the next week. Thank you for your patience and for your well wishes for my midterms! ♥</p><p><b>IMPORTANT, PLEASE READ:</b> Okay, I won't lie, I'm really nervous to post this chapter. I advise caution on reading it, as, at the second to last chapter break, a rape occurs. Now trust me when I say this is <i>not</i> graphic, but <i>please,</i> keep your best interests in mind when approaching the chapter break that starts with, "By the time the showing had ended, Yuri was sure that he’d given Otabek permanent brain damage." It is safe for sensitive parties to continue reading at the chapter break followed by, "Otabek stood outside the gates of the house and stuffed his hands into his pockets" and a summary of the skipped portion of text will be in the endnotes. Thank you for your cooperation. ♥</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was like a kind of symbolic irony, in a way. Or maybe it wasn’t, and Yuri truly was just losing it, but after their initial chat on the bench (if it could be called something so light-hearted), Yuri and Minami had been spending more time together. Which wasn’t to say that they were<i> spending time together, </i>for Yuri remained very much alone, but that when they saw each other, occasionally, the few times they would cross paths in the house, there would be eye-contact, maybe a nod, and a sense of understanding between them. At last, there was the solidarity Yuri had hoped for.</p><p>Still, Yuri wasn’t so out of it, yet, that he didn’t realize that these interactions didn’t exactly count as ‘hanging out’ or whathaveyou. He knew that he was lonely, that life without Mila was taking a toll on his social skills and outlook on people, but had a feeling that at least having spoken to Minami had helped some. At least now his only source of human contact wasn’t an alpha who may or may not show up to showings, coming only out of the vain hope that Yuri was mate material.</p><p>Look at him, moving up in the world.</p><p>Still, though, he was pathetically grateful for Otabek, and, even though he hesitated to admit it to himself, he was a little bit scared that he <i>wouldn’t</i> be present at the next showing. While Yuri knew that their eventual separation was necessary -- was <i>inevitable</i> -- he couldn’t help his nervousness that his comment about Otabek’s presence at the showings would keep him away. Maybe because Otabek had been hurt by it, which had been obvious, and wanted some distance. Maybe because it had proven too bold for even <i>Otabek’s</i> leniency, and he wanted to punish Yuri for his rudeness. Maybe just because his time had finally come to go home, and he wasn’t going to come back at all. And so, despite all of the long-winded, preachy speeches he’d given himself on the matter, Yuri looked forward to Monday’s showing with anxiety and a thrill of dread. If Otabek really was gone, that would be the end of things, clear cut and simple, but-- </p><p>But nothing, it turned out, and Yuri had run out of his ready stock of creative denials for the surge of relief he felt when he saw Otabek outside the gate, again, waiting for him with that same, tiny smile.<br/>
Their time together whizzed by, as it always seemed to, and Yuri felt inexplicably lighter once it was over, if a little impatient for Thursday to come, if only so they could finish their argument about Plato. And so Yuri could find out more about Serena’s newfound proficiency in thumb wars. Apparently Otabek had yet to get the hang of them, and he had come armed with thoroughly ridiculous stories of his savage niece’s victories over him for three showings straight, now. Honestly, Yuri was interested to see if the girl would evolve enough to break Otabek’s wrist over the three-day gap.</p><p>Yuri smiled slightly to himself as he accepted the parasol shoved in his direction; even if Serena did end up breaking his wrist (unlikely, admittedly), he had a feeling that Otabek would find a way to dramatize the tale for Yuri’s entertainment.</p><p>***</p><p>Yuri was brought back to consciousness by the ache in his back. Recently, it had adopted a state of near-constant pain, whether it be mild complaints against the way Yuri was positioned or serious threats to knock him off his feet if it gave a particularly brutal twinge. Most days, he cursed the aches and pains associated with pregnancy (the aforementioned ones not least) to hell and back, fervently exercising his neglected mental vocabulary to achieve maximum satisfaction, even if the effect was impotent, but today, Yuri thanked God for it ten thousand times over.</p><p>He’d fallen asleep, he worked out as he scrambled as quickly as he could up from the floor of his closet. He had been working on a particularly finicky blue parasol’s stitching after lunch, and, with the food (meager, though it was) sitting heavy in his stomach and his insomnia,  the night before, the dim, orange glow of the lamp he sat probably too close to had lulled him to sleep. </p><p>The funny thing, though, (if he had a different, slightly more sadistic sense of humor) was that something similar had happened before, months ago when he’d only just met Otabek. He’d taken a nap (and he was still surprised the guards’ had allowed him that) and had overslept, only making it to the showing by the skin of his neck. It had been Mila who’d saved him, back then; she hadn’t been able to find him before the matchmaker’s inspection and had woken him up just in time to get back downstairs, huffing and trying to act natural as the matchmaker’s beady eyes bored into their souls.</p><p>The irony was not lost on Yuri that, this time, due to his own actions, there was no Mila to have woken him up. And so he skidded into the hall alone, flushed and relatively disheveled despite having run only a few meters (though maybe the latter thing could be attributed to him moving in his sleep), a hair before the matchmaker’s door opened. </p><p>Mila shot him a questioning, slightly worried glance as the matchmaker stared him down, but Yuri refused to look at her. Why he was continuing with the silent treatment, juvenile even by his fairly low standards, he couldn’t say, but he just<i> knew</i> that it was-- if not right, it was something to cling to. A punishment for her, for ruining her life; a punishment for him, for failing her-- many rationales were applicable, though Yuri would be lying if he said that his biggest motivation wasn’t his fear that, if he broke and talked to her, it would be to say goodbye. He’d never liked goodbyes.</p><p>But now here he was, flustered and close to tripping over his own feet as he followed the procession down the sloping gardens, too lost in anxieties over the future to walk straight. He pushed the foggy, grey-overlaid visions of Mila’s departure from his mind, focusing in on the present enough to have a heart attack.</p><p>Which sounded dramatic, he granted you, but was fucking<i> warranted.</i> </p><p>Yuri hadn’t slept the night before, one reason for his impromptu nap in the closet, and had been a veritable zombie all morning, ignoring Mila in the kitchen out of habit and fumbling through his chores with the grace and precision of a drunken ballerina. (An analogy he could use with some authority; he’d seen a few. (He’d been one a few times, too, but he wasn’t tripping over his feet a third time to think about it.)) The point was, though, in his exhaustion and unwillingness to be alive, much less <i>awake, </i>Yuri had forgotten something. Something absolutely crucial. </p><p>He’d had his blockers refilled the day before, but, when he’d gone to bed, he’d forgotten to put them out. So, as he’d woken up, he’d forgotten to put them on. And now, he wasn’t wearing them. </p><p>At a showing.</p><p>Fuck, he was <i>dead. </i></p><p>Making a conscious effort to hold in his scent, unstifled for the first time in almost seven months, Yuri went through the calculations in his head. The showing was two hours long; he sat away from everyone else; the wind was strong today, and would be blowing toward him rather than away. He could do this. He could totally do this. As long as he continued physically holding in his scent (which sounded strange, but Yuri couldn’t come up with any other way to describe it, even to himself) for the duration of his time in the gardens, he would be able to escape with no one any the wiser, his scent, maximum effort exerted, stronger than it was with blockers but nowhere near where it might have been had Yuri not realized in time. </p><p>And then he met eyes with Otabek through the fence, and swore like a very-Russian sailor. (In his head; Yuri was not yet insane enough that he would risk vulgarities in public.)</p><p>Otabek. He’d forgotten about Otabek! Otabek who could read him better than anyone alive (excluding perhaps Mila and his grandfather), Otabek who sat close enough to be able to smell him easily through the fence, Otabek who <i>liked</i> him.</p><p>It was impractical, a last ditch effort, but there it was. Maybe, if he could distract Otabek enough, Yuri would get away with it. Besides, Otabek had never seemed like he was particularly influenced by his primitive instincts, before; who knew, maybe he wouldn’t have a very good sense of smell, either.</p><p>“Hey,” Yuri said, as he and Otabek moved in tandem to their special, removed bench by the Koi pond. “I see Serena hasn’t broken any limbs, yet; perhaps there’s still hope for your thumb-war skills.”</p><p>“H--” Otabek stopped. His pupils dilated. His nostrils flared. <i>Goddammit. </i>“Hi,” he said, very slowly and after almost a minute of silence. He looked like he’d been hit over the head, blinking dazedly and looking, lost, as though he’d just found the North Star, at Yuri. </p><p>So much for his plan; Otabek had fucking<i> noticed.</i></p><p>“How are you?” Each word apparently cost a great amount of effort. If Yuri weren’t so concerned that Otabek would get him in serious trouble, he’d find it endearing. (And, fuck it, he still did, but he <i>refused </i>to focus on that, right now.)</p><p>“I’m good,” Yuri shrugged, as flippant as he could make himself, “how are you?”</p><p>“… Good.” It was visibly difficult. Otabek cleared his throat, took a shallow breath in through his mouth that was obviously supposed to be discrete, and continued, “Serena hasn’t killed me, yet, no. But I think she and Champagne have joined forces to wage a war against me.”</p><p>Good job; Yuri mentally awarded Otabek a point. He’d almost sounded like a fluent Japanese speaker, that time. He decided, against his better judgement, that he liked this shellshocked Otabek; he liked the normal one, too, of course, but this one was just so… <i>cute.</i></p><p>“I don’t doubt it. The cat has had it in for you since day one.” Yuri nodded sagely, and watched Otabek struggle to herd his remaining braincells into a coherent thought. </p><p>He wasn’t sure quite<i> why</i> his scent affected Otabek as much as it did-- he wasn’t in heat, after all, wouldn’t be even close to it, for several months, and it wasn’t like they were mated, at which point a person’s mate’s general <i>existence</i> made their scent irresistible to them. Yes, Yuri was pregnant, and that did sweeten his scent quite a bit, but, again, he was fairly sure that that only applied to mates; for anyone else, <i>especially </i>unmated alphas, he would smell closer to repellant than inviting. Yet another evolutionary advantage he had to thank for his inviability as a mate; his body was hardwired to detect infidelity, even if it technically <i>wasn’t</i> so.</p><p>No matter the reason for Otabek’s extreme reaction, though, it was one <i>hell </i>of a show, as Yuri watched Otabek open and close his mouth several times, nod, and then visibly blanch when he realized he’d moved closer to the fence, forcing himself to shuffle backward.</p><p>Yuri smirked, biting his lip to keep the fondness from his still-repressed scent; this was going to be a long afternoon.</p><p>***</p><p>By the time the showing had ended, Yuri was sure that he’d given Otabek permanent brain damage. While his complete disorientation had been funny, at first, when it remained throughout the two hours they’d spent together, Yuri had steadily become more and more worried. It was only when Otabek picked up on this (Yuri couldn’t be sure if it was from something in his manner or from his scent, deliberately weakened though it was) and reassured Yuri, “sorry I’m so out of it, I… didn’t sleep well, last night,” that he relaxed.</p><p>As Yuri trooped inside with the other omegas, though, he could confirm one thing for sure; no matter how endearing it had been to watch Otabek trip over himself, clearly some version of drunk off Yuri’s scent, he was <i>never</i> going to forget his blockers again. It had been almost fun, this time, but, if it happened again, Yuri might not be so lucky.</p><p>Yuri shrugged his shoulders to rid himself of the unwelcome sensation of foreboding, tense despite the fact that he logically had nothing to fear, so long as he didn’t fuck up, and embarked upon the first of his many, many trips to take the parasols into their closet.</p><p>He sighed as he set the final batch down, lowering himself carefully to his knees and from there slumping against the wall beside him. He was tired, still exhausted from a sleepless night despite his nap (and the invigorating sensation of seeing Otabek), but he wouldn’t have time to rest. He had to make up for the work time he’d lost that afternoon, and, since today had been as windy as it was, there were several ripped seams and torn-off patches of beading to contend with, too.</p><p>He took enough of a break to eat dinner, downright refusing to neglect the baby any more than he could help, but looked longingly over his shoulder at the trail of omegas making their ways up to the dormitories as he returned mournfully to his closet, too many parasols to modify before tomorrow’s showing to go to bed, yet.</p><p>It was at times like these that he felt the most bitter about his life, when his fingers, stiffened from the cold draft coming in under the door and aching at the joints, fumbled on the tiny, sharp needles in the flickering half-light his lamp provided. When his eyes clouded over and he had to blink himself back to reality, scrub the sleeve of his yukata across the few tears that had escaped him in his moment of weakness. When even the dingy, barely-there light made his head ache and he wanted nothing more than to lie down on one of the padded mats, just for a moment, just to rest his eyes.</p><p>Yuri hadn’t worked this late in a while, not since his first month at the house, and had forgotten how vivid the sensations were, yet how dulled the outside world seemed-- a distant dream on the horizon. Freedom was impossible, in these moments, the weakest concept of it quixotic enough that he scolded himself for ever having hoped, for ever have been naive enough to think that, maybe, there was something more to life than this.</p><p>Everything hurt worse at night, just like his grandfather had told him as a child. “Go to sleep, Yuratchka, everything will seem better in the morning,” except nothing<i> was</i> better in the morning, simply easier to bear. The injustices still stung like scars; the knife’s edge he walked on still dug into his bare feet and made them bleed; the pain was still a real, palpable thing that followed Yuri from moment to moment-- but the sorrow was easier to ignore. In the blackness of night, it was easy to lose himself to the tears, to memories of the world he would never be allowed to be a part of, but when dawn broke, his life was unavoidable, and he was resigned to it.</p><p>Yuri was curled against the wall, his head resting on it, eyes open just enough to do his job. The warm light from the lamp he’d relocated to his side (and he <i>still</i> hadn’t quite gotten over the fact that this shitty, little closet had multiple outlets while the fifth rank’s dormitories didn’t even have consistent water supply) illuminated half of his frame, leaving the other side shrouded in shadow, and, in his weary, heedless state, Yuri didn’t notice the door on the other side of the small room opening until it had closed with a click. Yuri looked up.</p><p>Fumihiro stood just inside the door, his guard’s uniform a little askew, his cheeks pink from what Yuri decided was the cold of the outdoors. It didn’t matter that Fumihiro had been stationed outside the bedrooms of the second rank; it <i>had </i>to be from the icy wind whipping through the gardens outside. </p><p>He approached, and his smile was a leer. </p><p>Yuri swallowed. He had done this dance before. Many times. But he hadn’t worked late, in a while. He’d almost forgotten why.</p><p>A hand on his thigh. Hot breath on his neck. Stubble scraping his cheek.</p><p>Yuri swallowed, willing his heart rate to calm. </p><p>Lips against his ear. “You were waiting for me, hm? After that little stunt, today, I knew you would be.”</p><p>Yuri felt ice in his lungs. His blockers. His <i>fucking </i>blockers.</p><p>Fumihiro moved closer, the hand on Yuri’s thigh moving up, up to tease the seam of his yukata in the most telling of places. As he shifted, the line of his shoulders blocked the sputtering, orangey lamp’s glow from view, shrouding his frame in black as he faded into the darkness of the room around them. A parasol crunched under Fumihiro’s feet as he changed his position, pulling Yuri away from the wall and onto a mat. More parasols broke beneath him as a hand was thrust roughly over his ass, and a tongue slithered over Yuri’s cheek, male breath sour in his nose. </p><p>Yuri turned his head away, clenched his jaw, and did not fight.</p><p>***</p><p>Otabek stood outside the gates of the house and stuffed his hands into his pockets. The day was cold and while he <i>had</i> wanted to check his watch, having to pull down his gloves and take his hands from their warm haven, shielded by the material of his jacket from the wind, was simply<i> not</i> worth it.</p><p>He wouldn’t complain, though-- he could take a little cold if it meant he got to spend time with Yuri.</p><p>Right on time, the sound of the gong crashed through the gardens, carrying over the wind as, as always, a door far away opened and a line of hooded, hanten-clad figures trooped dutifully out of it.<br/>
Yuri lined up with the others before the gate, as he always did, and, at the gong’s second tolling, split away from the pack, making his way to the bench that had become, forever fixed in Otabek’s mind, his own.</p><p>Otabek followed at a trot and made himself comfortable before the wrought iron bars of the fence as Yuri sat down. He moved slowly, more gingerly than Otabek had ever seen, though he had witnessed Yuri’s careful descent onto the bench countless times, and he winced as he sat, lines of pain forming on his forehead. Only then did Otabek notice the bags under Yuri’s eyes, deeper than he remembered them being only a day before. And, he realized suddenly-- his eyes were brimming with tears. Yuri wouldn’t look at him.</p><p>“Yura?” Otabek spoke very quietly, very gently.</p><p>On hearing his name, Yuri’s entire body seemed to quiver, which said something since Otabek could only see the top third of his face. He inhaled a tiny, quiet sob, and retracted into himself, lowering his head further as the tears ran shimmering lines down his cheeks.</p><p>Slowly, very conscious of his movements and trying not to spook Yuri, Otabek moved closer to the fence until he was pressed flush it, and reached his hand through the gap.</p><p>Watery green eyes fell on it, and, with less hesitation than Otabek would’ve expected, Yuri took it. For a long time after, Otabek watched him cry quietly, clutching his hand and alone in a picture of foliage and metal bars.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p><b>SUMMARY:</b> Yuri contemplates how strongly Otabek had reacted to his scent; he finds it kind of funny, but decides that he can never risk forgetting his blockers, again. He also wonders briefly why Otabek responded positively to his scent; the scents of mated or pregnant omegas will be closer to repulsive than alluring to alphas they are not bonded with (even if they are unbonded) though pregnancy generally sweetens their scents immensely. Yuri shrugs it off, and sighs internally when, when the showing is over, he has to work late (well into the night) to make up for the time he lost during his impromptu nap, earlier. We get an angsty monologue about how horrible life in the house is, and, almost asleep in his closet, Yuri is ambushed by a guard, Fumihiro, who then proceeds to tell Yuri he noticed him not wearing his blockers and that he knew Yuri would be "waiting for him," once the day was over. Yuri is raped, and the scene fades out before the actual act occurs.<b>END SUMMARY</b></p><p> </p><p>I really hope I handled that scene well. Thank you to everyone for reading, for commenting, for generally supporting this story-- it means so much. ♥ I may or may not have another update ready for next week, but I'll post an announcement if not, and the update will be rescheduled for the week after.  ♥</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter 13 recap: Can I just apologize? Poor Yuri. He doesn't deserve this bullshit. The poor baby wakes up minutes before a showing after passing out in his closet, and, only once he's outside, realizes he's not wearing blockers. Otabek is Very Obviously affected and Yuri think it's sweet. Later that night, Yuri works late to make up for lost time, and is raped by a guard. The chapter ends with Yuri at the showing the next day, visibly upset, and Otabek supports him even without knowing what's going on, holding his hand as Yuri breaks down.</p>
<p>I feel like I've lost all credibility, at this point. xD</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Yuri… Yuri would’ve liked to say that he spent the weekend following his interaction with Fumihiro behaving perfectly normally. He really would have. But that just wasn’t true.</p>
<p>He didn’t know why this was hitting him so hard; for the past two years, life had never been what he wanted it to be and it only made sense that the more… carnal aspects of it followed that trend. He was pregnant and forsaken in a second matchmaking house, for God’s sake-- he wasn’t a stranger to intercourse, no matter how rough it came. And yet--</p>
<p>Perhaps it was the hormones, making him weepy over things as ridiculous as the way his yukata folded so neatly, at night. Perhaps it was something instinctual; it wouldn’t surprise him to learn that in late term, omegas took what had been routine matters worse, concerned for their children. Perhaps he had simply gotten used to his perceived control over his own body during the five months or so he’d spent at the house without being subjected to anything more than gropings and lascivious taunts. Still.</p>
<p>Yuri was out of ways to lie to himself, too tired and too distressed to delude himself into thinking that a new trickle of fear didn’t assault him every time a guard, no matter which, was near. It applied to alphas in general, he found when he shrank back from a matchmaker, that Monday, when she reached him in her inspection before the showing. The only person Yuri had retained normal contact with since-- <i>since,</i> was Otabek. And normal was a loose phrase.</p>
<p>A hand through the bars of a fence. That had been all it had taken for Yuri to, finally, wholly, drop his act. He wasn’t the perfect little omega, the ideal mating candidate, anymore as he sobbed as quietly as he could into his palm, parasol held precariously between his knees and Otabek’s hand locked in a vice-like grip. He wasn’t the snarky, vaguely free Yuri he had played at around Otabek, quippy and full of contradictions in philosophical discussions, when he allowed himself to look into Otabek’s eyes, nearly twenty minutes of soft reassurances later, and knew his own were red-rimmed, circled in the bruises of an insomniac, and overflowing with tears that showed no sign of relenting. He had given up, plain and simple. Maybe this was Yuri throwing himself to the winds; maybe it was Mila’s old worries of his self-destruction being actualized; maybe he was simply losing his grasp of reality with his entire life crumbling around him. It didn’t matter, when it came down to it. <br/>And when it had come down to it, Otabek had held his hand, and let him cry. Yuri loved him for that.</p>
<p>“Plisetsky,” Yuri hid his flinch the best he could, returning to reality at the sharp words of the matchmaker still examining him before the showing. Her eyes narrowed but she didn’t comment on it, and Yuri worked on calming his pounding heart. “Stay back.” </p>
<p>If Yuri hadn’t been so focused on controlling his features, he would’ve blinked. Stay back? What the hell did that mean? He’d never seen that asked of anyone, before-- not in this house or his last. <br/>Unwanted, dread rose inside him, coiling in his stomach like a snake, injecting the poison of terror into his bloodstream. Did she know? Was this about him forgetting his blockers? Had Otabek ratted him out? </p>
<p>No, Yuri internally scolded himself; Otabek wouldn’t do that. He was too good for that.</p>
<p>
  <i>So then what?</i>
</p>
<p>The guard? Had Yuri not… satisfied him? He’d thought he’d stayed well enough compliant, but some of them wanted their partners to pretend to enjoy it, satisfy their fragile, alpha egos or whatever. Was Fumihiro like that? Yuri couldn’t remember. The time before last was so foggy… </p>
<p>The gong sounded and Yuri almost moved, purely out of habit, but he managed to keep himself rooted to the spot. A hand was laid on his shoulder, and it might almost have seemed maternal had it not been so cold, so dead, simply laying across his skin to demonstrate once more how weak Yuri was, how powerless he was to do anything but submit, even when the hair on the back of his neck stood on end and his body thrummed with tension and anxiety. </p>
<p>What had he done?</p>
<p>The great, wooden doors fell shut, and the hand fell from his shoulder. Yuri tried not to shiver in relief. “Come.” The matchmaker set off down the hall, away from the entry chamber and into the section omegas weren’t allowed in, reserved for guards and matchmakers. Yuri tried, in vain, to slow his heart rate, and didn’t dare raise a hand to settle the baby when it picked up on his stress and squirmed disconsolately within him, raising an objection in the form of two swift kicks to the kidney.</p>
<p>Yuri followed the matchmaker, foreboding mounting within him as he was led, the woman’s heels clicking threateningly against the polished floors, into what had to be the heart of the matchmakers’ quarters. They stopped abruptly in front of an unmarked door, and ventured inside. </p>
<p>Yuri was met with a sight he didn’t expect, and didn’t fully understand, at first. In front of him was what looked like the contents of a doctor’s office, surgically removed from its proper place in the world and implanted instead into a break room of sorts. An examination table, a machine, desk, and a chair beside it, a sofa against the far wall, and several vending machines comprised this oxymoron of an area. Even more surprising, was that a woman in business dress -- an alpha, obvious despite the blockers she wore -- stood behind the table, smiling professionally at the matchmaker when they entered. She was beautiful: tall, slim, somewhere in her thirties, and, had she been an omega, an ideal member of the house. Despite the warm, if unnaturally crisp clothing she wore, Yuri distrusted her on sight.</p>
<p>“Is everything set up?” The woman nodded and moved forward as the matchmaker came to stand at the end of the exam table. Yuri’s arm was taken (it must have been rock hard, with how tense he was) and the woman pulled him, firmly but gently, over to the side of the table, indicating with a click of her tongue that he get on. </p>
<p>Yuri swallowed and did so, making and failing every attempt to carry out the action easily, and the woman rounded the table, producing a clipboard from God knew where and opening a cupboard in the small desk beside the machine, extracting several instruments from it. </p>
<p>Without a word, she returned to Yuri’s side once more and, in practiced movements, opened his yukata before he could even process it. Her hands were cold against his now exposed skin, and he fought the urge to cover up, to protect his child and his modesty behind the thin layer of fabric he was allotted. The baby kicked hard, presumably at the draft, and the woman Yuri was just beginning to realize was some kind of doctor chuckled.</p>
<p>“Strong legs,” she said over her shoulder to the matchmaker, ignoring Yuri’s curious gaze, aimed, despite himself, at her. “I felt that one.”</p>
<p>The matchmaker’s lips thinned but she said nothing, nodding instead to the ultrasound machine not far away. Apparently following her instructions, the doctor extracted what looked like a tube of some sort from the pile of instruments now on the desk, and, without warning, squirted some of whatever gel was inside onto Yuri’s abdomen. Yuri flinched, both at the coldness of the gel and unexpected turn of events that had led to its presence on his body. </p>
<p>He was ignored.</p>
<p>An ultrasound wand was pressed, harder than Yuri had expected, into his stomach, then, and with a sound of whooshing and a flickering in coloring, the formerly black screen of the ultrasound machine came to life. Yuri felt his breath catch. </p>
<p>He’d never been allowed prenatal care, before, only the briefest of visits with his al-- with <i>him</i> to an OBGYN to confirm Yuri’s pregnancy, and then off to the house for him. He’d had no idea that there was anyone in the house who would allow him a check-up. But here he was, listening to <i>his baby’s heartbeat,</i> and, he couldn’t help but gasp, <i>seeing them on the screen. </i></p>
<p>The doctor’s eyes snapped toward him, her first acknowledgment of his existence beyond that of his stomach, and she turned the screen away, the hazy outlines of an infant disappearing from view. Abruptly, the whooshing stopped, and Yuri almost had a heart attack before he realized the woman had pressed a button-- deliberately muting the sound. </p>
<p>“How is it?” The matchmaker spoke; both Yuri and the doctor turned toward her.</p>
<p>“Small,” the doctor replied, pushing the wand a little harder into the side of Yuri’s abdomen. He tried not to let his discomfort show on his face, as much as he was capable, that was. “But under the circumstances, that’s to be expected. Nothing some time in the incubator after birth won’t fix.” What? What circumstances? An<i> incubator-- </i></p>
<p>“Mmm,” the matchmaker said, “still a suitable candidate for adoption?” Yuri’s heart stopped.</p>
<p>“Absolutely,” the technician nodded, probing Yuri once more and scribbling something onto her clipboard. “I’ll see if I can get the process expedited for you. By January we should have at least two candidates lined up for your screening. Direct, closed cases-- nothing problematic with the foster system.” </p>
<p>“Excellent, see that you do.”</p>
<p>What? What was going on? Yuri felt like he was swimming through syrup, his head foggy and his thoughts muddled as panic overtook him. Adoption? That’s what this was about-- they were planning on taking his baby from him, without even letting him make a case for keeping it? This was so obviously planned, and now Yuri looked around, he would bet anything that the ultrasound machine, the exam supplies, they were all there only for today, only to give Yuri the necessary checks and ensure that <i>his baby </i>was going to be easy to give up. </p>
<p>Without his consent.</p>
<p>Yuri felt like he was going to be sick, and he gave up and wrapped his arms around his stomach, holding it at the very bottom where he vaguely remembered that there was no gel. But then his hands were being ripped away, yukata being closed and his abdomen having been wiped clean somewhere along the way. And, before he could truly take a deep breath, he was being chivvied none too gently off the table, trailing out of the room after the matchmaker like a lost duckling. Like a lost parent, searching desperately for some shred of control to cling to.</p>
<p>Back through the matchmakers’ quarters, back through the entry hall, back to the reopened double doors, and Yuri was being thrust out of them, drab, white parasol pushed roughly into his hands. <br/>“Hurry up,” the matchmaker snarled in his ear, “make yourself even later to the showing and you’ll be punished, whether anyone has paid enough attention to you to notice or not.”</p>
<p>Yuri stumbled down through the gardens, feeling disoriented and more than a little distressed. An anguish that was only heightened when he started toward his normal bench and found it occupied, Hana of all people standing just in front of it, batting her eyelashes at Otabek and letting her parasol slip just enough to properly display her beauty. </p>
<p>Otabek, turning his head, glanced past her and met Yuri’s gaze. And he was only the catalyst of too many upsets, Yuri knew, but he felt tears flood his eyes, all the same. He turned, making to go somewhere else (and where could he go, now that his place was stolen?), but Otabek called after him, “Yura! Over here!” </p>
<p>Yuri would’ve liked to hide in the bushes somewhere, perhaps retreat all the way back to his other bench in the secluded portion of the garden only he, Minami, and Mila had ever visited, but, good little omega that he was, he came when he was called. As if he had a fucking choice.</p>
<p>“Thank you for keeping me company, Hana,” Otabek smiled slightly at her; Yuri felt ill. “I’m sure we’ll be able to speak again, soon.” A clear dismissal.</p>
<p>Hana smiled, nodded, and staged a tactful retreat. Yuri caught the malevolent glance she threw over her shoulder as she went, though; he’d thought he’d been maxed out, but another tendril of dread made its home in his already overly full stomach. Fucking brilliant. <i>Exactly</i> what he needed right now.</p>
<p>“Hey,” Otabek’s brows furrowed when he caught Yuri’s expression (and <i>how</i> did he always do that?!), “what’s wrong?”</p>
<p>Everything. Literally fucking <i>everything. </i>“I don’t want to talk about it.” Maybe Yuri’s tone was harsher, more brittle, than he’d normally want-- especially with Otabek. He didn’t care. </p>
<p>Otabek liked Hana better anyway (who wouldn’t?), so Yuri’s guilt was short-lived when he saw the flash of hurt intrude upon Otabek’s perfect features at his statement. He looked pointedly away when Otabek’s brows began to furrow, concern nestling in his face, and concentrated on blinking the stubborn tears from his eyes while he stared at a shimmering fish in the pond a few feet away.</p>
<p>“Want to hear about Serena’s latest attempt to kill me?” Otabek tried, haltingly. </p>
<p>“Sure.” Yuri’s voice was dull, and his eyes were, too, when he turned his gaze back on Otabek several minutes later, a thousand miles away in a universe where, for <i>once, </i>he was happy.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Yuri made it as far as the entryway after the showing before his day got worse. He hadn’t thought it possible.</p>
<p>He stood, passive and unheeding, as umbrella after umbrella was shoved at him. Some he took, some he didn’t, and they fell to the floor. Mila waited only until the other omegas were out of view to come up to him, face twisted and eyes wide.</p>
<p>“Yura? What happened? Why were you late to the showing?”</p>
<p>Yuri, laden with too many parasols, could find no energy for this. He walked away, opening the closet door and dumping the umbrellas in his arms onto one of the pads for them. A moment later, Mila was at his side, placing those she had evidently picked up more gently down next to Yuri’s.</p>
<p>“Yuri? Come on, talk to me. I know you’re mad, but this is important! What did the matchmaker want with you?”</p>
<p>Yuri ignored her, walking back to the pile of parasols waiting to be toted into the closet. Mila followed him, desperate, quickly-becoming-distraught eyes searching his face beseechingly. Another trip to the closet, another return to the dwindling pile, the final umbrellas hoisted into his arms, Mila clamoring at his side, all the while.</p>
<p>“Yura, for fuck’s sake, this is important! This silent treatment is ridiculous and petty-- grow the fuck up and talk to me!” </p>
<p>Yuri stilled, the door ajar beneath his palms from where he’d been starting to close it, Mila behind him within the closet. </p>
<p>Finally, in a small, wounded voice, she said, “Please, Yura,” her voice broke, “even if you don’t care about me anymore,<i> I </i>still care about you.”</p>
<p>Yuri’s emotions were all over the place, fraught and wrung out from the rape, from the realization that his baby would stop being<i> his</i> the second he birthed it, from seeing Hana with Otabek. He, as defeated as he was, was hanging on by a thread, a thin, fragile fiber the only thing keeping him together. With that sentence, Mila broke it.</p>
<p>“Of course I care!” Yuri snarled, whipping around to face her and slamming the door shut. This-- this was too far. He was <i>livid.</i> How <i>dare </i>she insinuate that he didn’t care about her? How <i>dare</i> she pretend he wouldn’t do <i>everything </i>in his power to give her a better life, that he <i>hadn’t </i>done everything in his power to give her a better life!</p>
<p>“Then why won’t you be happy for me?” Mila fired back, “Why have you been icing me out for weeks?”</p>
<p><i>“Because you were supposed to make it out of here!”</i> Yuri roared, tears coming to his eyes as he screamed out all of the pain, all of the heartbreak, all of the anguish he’d lived for <i>so long. </i>“It was supposed to be <i>you!”</i></p>
<p>And Yuri broke, finally, everything coming to a head as he sobbed, for the first time allowing himself to open up. And, for all the time they’d spent together, Mila knew Yuri’s opinions on her love life, knew what he thought about it, and knew that his tears weren’t only about her. </p>
<p>She crossed the tiny room in two strides, pulling Yuri into her arms and holding on, holding <i>him</i> as he clung on for dear life. She supported him as his knees gave out, and, as one, they sank gently to the floor, a mass of limbs and tears, entangled together. </p>
<p>“It’ll be okay, Yura,” she murmured into his hair. “I promise, it’ll be okay.” And, for once in her life, she didn’t push.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much for reading! Comments and kudos fuel me the way nothing else does, so, if you wish, I'd be a thrilled recipient of more! ♥</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter 14 recap: I continue on my quest to drive Yuri to madness. The poor boy. Yuri is taken aside and given a prenatal exam in which he is refused the knowledge of the baby's gender and informed, none too gently, that the child will be given up for adoption the second he births it. Because, you know, consent doesn't matter. Directly following, he finds Otabek with Hana (mean girl number 1) at the showing, and, though Otabek finishes their conversation immediately upon seeing Yuri, Yuri is hurt by this. He snaps at him that he doesn't want to talk about it when Otabek asks what's wrong, and they spend the rest of the showing awkwardly with Otabek trying to cheer Yuri up. Later, Yuri is harangued by Mila and ends up exploding that <i>she</i> was supposed to escape the house. He cries in her arms.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It had been three days since Yuri had broken down and effectively convinced Mila of his insanity. Honestly, he was finding it difficult to care that she was now evidently concerned for his state of mind: he was just happy to have her back. He hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed her snarky comments, her lended ear, even her fucking <i>hair ruffles</i> until they re-entered his life, and, yeah, maybe Yuri had to endure Mila’s continuous attempts to get him to like Sara, but it was a small price to pay for the return of his best friend. </p><p>What he wasn’t sure how to feel about, though, was the combination of Minami plus Mila. Though he <i>loathed </i>to admit it, they, together, were too high-energy for him. And, admittedly, <i>some</i> of that could be attributed to the flu Yuri had, <i>of course, </i>contracted, making him woozy, lethargic, and<i> cold </i>constantly, but he knew his current state of being, and knew that his exhaustion when around the pair was more than he could blame (successfully, that was) on a seasonal ailment.</p><p>The beginning of the end, as he had taken to mentally calling it, had come when Mila and Yuri were alone in Yuri’s closet, a little bit before dinner and working on a few parasols (Mila was sewing on some beads; Yuri had taught her the simplest thing he could think of when she’d demanded to help, and, in spite of himself, was grateful for her assistance), when the door of the closet was cracked open, Minami’s lithe frame slipping into the room.</p><p>He took in the sight of them together, sitting curled up and leaning against each other’s shoulders, and blinked. “Oh, so you two are friends again?”</p><p>Yuri raised an eyebrow at Mila even as the stupid kid sat down on his other side, burying his head in Yuri’s shoulder for an interesting effect; his hair was<i> so</i> fluffy.</p><p>Mila shrugged. “I mentioned to him that you were icing me out-- you can’t blame me, Yura, I was starved for company. Those bimbos are <i>so stupid:</i> it’s like talking to a flock of vapid pelicans for all the intellectual stimulation they give you.”</p><p>Yuri snorted, inclining his head in agreement. “Does this mean you miss me spouting Marx at you?”</p><p>
  <i>“Yes.”</i>
</p><p>Minami, making Yuri’s arm vibrate, laughed. “I don’t pretend to know who that is,” Yuri <i>gaped, </i>“but I’m glad you’re talking again; it was so weird to pretend not to know both of you.”</p><p>Yuri and Mila shared a side-eye, before deciding not to pursue the topic. The kid’s nonchalance could be endearing, but it was also a little weird. Then again, so was the kid himself, so his straight-forward nature wasn’t <i>too much </i>of a surprise, considering.</p><p>Mila hummed in response, likely knowing as well as Yuri did that Minami required some form of audible validation, and handed a parasol across Yuri <i>(“Excuse me--”)</i> to him.</p><p>“Here,” she said, “work on that beading. Hana wanted the purple ones, right, Yura?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Yuri rolled his eyes, “apparently they make her yukata <i>sparkle</i> or some shit-- she was very specific about the shade.”</p><p>Minami nodded, and dutifully took up the needle Yuri handed him.</p><p>For a while, they worked in companionable silence, an amiable kind of warmth filling the otherwise drafty room. When Yuri sneezed sometime in between his fifth and seventh parasol (the lurid shade of orange stuck in his memory), Mila produced a handkerchief from some unknown place on her person, and handed it across without looking up.</p><p>Yuri took it, and let his eyes shut for a moment. So this was what it was like to have friends.</p><p>***</p><p>The one and only downside to Mila’s return, Yuri found on day four of her back in his life, was that it complicated his emotions to the point where he felt himself becoming lost in the fog of his mind the second he tried to parse meaning from his entangled feelings. The issue was, frankly, that his sudden lack of isolation made it clear just how gone on Otabek he was. </p><p>He had fallen in love with him, plain and simple, and now had had his final denial of<i> “I’m just starved for human contact;<b> of course</b> that’s why I’m always so eager to see him”</i> ripped away with Mila’s return. Yuri could’ve handled that, though, but for the added complication which revealed itself at the showing.</p><p>“Hey, Yura,” Otabek smiled, the curve of his lips sending a surge of warmth through Yuri’s body the way it always did.</p><p>“Beka,” Yuri replied, nodding in a way he was pretty sure Otabek could see over the parasol. Every time he spoke to him, it made him so inexplicably <i>happy, </i>no matter the topic, and, honestly, Yuri wasn’t quite sure what to do with that. He’d never met someone who made his insides glow like this, never experienced this kind of unbridled longing for another human being. It was, frankly, overwhelming.</p><p>Especially, Yuri almost regretted to say, since his child felt the same. From within, right on schedule, came the barrage of kicks, the request of his baby to be nearer to the alpha they had apparently decided to like. They knew Otabek’s voice, could recognize and even request it when it was about four o’clock but not a showing day, asking to be close to the person who they heard so often.</p><p>It didn’t mean anything; the baby knew Mila’s voice, too, was learning Minami’s, but it just-- it made it that much harder for Yuri to accept that, sometime soon, he would have to say goodbye to this man that had wormed himself irrevocably into his life, forever. </p><p>Yuri rubbed a hand over his abdomen, allowing himself to smile, albeit a bit sadly, as the baby kicked and elbowed all the places that made Yuri internally groan, <i>‘I’m not a damn punching bag!’</i></p><p>Otabek, ever receptive to the 50 ever-changing shades of <i>Yuri,</i> continued, “How are you?” Otabek didn’t know about the baby (he wouldn’t <i>be here</i> if he knew about the baby, whispered the nasty voice in Yuri’s head) but he also wasn’t an idiot. He’d seen Yuri at the last showing, had held his hand as he’d cried disconsolately at the one before that, had borne blind witness to all of Yuri’s mood swings and anxieties over the course of the past few weeks. He didn’t know what was wrong, but he knew that <i>something</i> was, so he asked, earnest and worried, how Yuri was handling it. He’d noticed Yuri’s smile, that had evidently convinced him that it was safe to inquire, but the hesitant quality of his voice, like he was trying not to spook a horse, made it clear that he was still treading carefully. After his last alpha, Yuri appreciated that more than he could say. </p><p>Still, Yuri didn’t know how to respond.</p><p>He hesitated, taking in a breath and then letting it out again. “I have a cold,” he settled on at last. “So extremely congested.”</p><p>Otabek laughed, something between an exhalation of relief and one of humor, and nodded. “It’s the season for it,” he agreed. </p><p>“Winter’s the bane of my existence,” Yuri replied, amiable.</p><p>“It’s so different here. Than in America, I mean,” Otabek clarified, “the weather’s pretty similar -- it gets cold just about everywhere --” Yuri smiled, “but in The States, they do this whole song and dance for the holidays. Here, there’s some things, but after so many years indoctrinated into the commercial materialism of Christmas in America, it’s a different scale.” </p><p>Yuri nodded, “I’ve heard that. Huge evergreens and demonic children clamoring for gifts?”</p><p>“Sounds about right,” he smiled wryly. “The traditions are a bit ridiculous, to be honest, but they can be fun at times. If you have the right person to share them with, that is.”</p><p>Yuri nodded, haltingly, trying to work out if this had been nothing more than a throw-away comment or something…<i> more. </i>“I’m sure. In Russia they do Christmas pretty excessively, too, though it’s normally in January.”</p><p>Otabek hummed, nodding. “What do they do in the house?” He asked, “I know the way my family celebrates it and the way some others do, but I’ve never heard how the festivities in omega houses go.”<br/>
Yuri stiffened. “I’m not sure; I only came here a few months ago.”</p><p>“Oh,” Otabek recovered himself quickly, “But what about this year? Christmas is hardly a week away-- there must be some preparation going on.”</p><p><i>Fuck. </i>Yuri stilled; what was he supposed to say to that? They <i>didn’t</i> celebrate Christmas in the house, hadn’t in his first and didn’t seem to at this one, but he couldn’t just<i> say </i>that. Not even to Otabek. Not while he was trapped here. </p><p>“The decorations are subtle,” Yuri settled on, even though lying to Otabek made his stomach roil. “Not much is happening, yet, but they’re hinting at a surprise closer to New Year’s.”</p><p>“Nothing for Christmas Eve?” Otabek asked, raising his eyebrows, “I would’ve thought that would be a big event.”</p><p>
  <i>What? Why the fuck would they celebrate Christmas Eve? They all knew that Santa wasn’t real.</i>
</p><p>“I don’t know,” Yuri shrugged, flashing a deflective smile, “maybe that’s the surprise.”</p><p>“That the New Year’s surprise will actually be happening on the 24th?” Otabek looked amused</p><p>“Maybe,” Yuri challenged, and Otabek laughed. The sound warmed Yuri from the inside out.</p><p>***</p><p>The baby had been acting up all day. Yuri refrained from pulling a face as he sat down at the long table for dinner -- he was already eager to escape the jumble of noise and bodies -- but just barely. As if to agree with his wish to escape from the inane company, several strong kicks reverberated from within his abdomen, and Yuri ran a weary hand across it. Nothing he did seemed to settle the little demon; he’d been on the point of pacing in his closet (which demanded recognition for the last-ditch attempt it was; his feet were <i>so</i> sore) when he was called for dinner, and though he’d initially been hopeful that some food would settle the baby, Yuri’s optimism diminished with each passing second.</p><p>Not only had it been ten minutes since dinner was supposed to be served (and what the hell? Nothing was <i>ever</i> late in the house), but Yuri was <i>hungry--</i> as, clearly, was the baby. Which only inspired them to ratchet up their protests and liquify Yuri’s insides in their demand to be fed.</p><p>Yuri withheld a groan with some difficulty, though his suffering at the baby’s hand (foot? That seemed more likely) was at least partially balanced by the appearance of food beginning to be doled out at the top of the table. </p><p><i>Hold on, </i>he murmured mentally, massaging the brutalized section of his being, <i>we’re going to eat soon.</i></p><p>And it was a testament to Yuri’s hunger that he picked up his spoon and dipped it into the slop-like soup that was placed in front of him. It wasn’t as repugnant as he had first thought, he found after a careful bite; there was more flavor to it than just that of a singular, rotting carrot, and, upon closer inspection, the soup-ish thing appeared to contain vegetable chunks. That was new.</p><p>And something else was, too, as Yuri discovered when, after he had finished his meager ration of food, he was stopped from leaving the table. Yuri shot a glance at Minami, sitting across from him, and got a shrug in return. Omegas weren’t allowed to skip meals, but they could leave once they’d eaten their allotment of food; by normal logic, Yuri shouldn’t have met any resistance once he’d started to stand, but a guard’s hand on his shoulder, pushing him back into his seat, proved that this, apparently, was not a normal mealtime.</p><p>Unbidden, anxiety made its way through Yuri, and, despite the fact that the baby had been pacified by the food (hurrah!), he wrapped his arm around his abdomen, a sense of foreboding sending tension coursing in stiff lines through his body. Yuri watched, vaguely panicky, as the omegas he knew to be those who made dinner got up, retreating into the kitchen as one. The panicky feeling increased, almost tenfold, when they returned, pushing small trolleys (the kind normally found at restaurants to carry the orders of big groups) filled with what looked like cake into the room. What the hell was this? They<i> never </i>got dessert.</p><p>A treat for the holiday, perhaps? Like what Otabek had suggested? But, going by the looks of confusion and apprehension on the faces of those who had been here longer than he, Yuri knew that this couldn’t be standard. But then, her voice floating from the top of the table where the first rank sat, Yuri heard Mila declare, bubbly and bright in the way she always was, how nice of Sara it had been to have several dozen specialty cakes sent in for a Christmas treat. How generous her mate was, she gushed, and Yuri relaxed marginally. If Mila said the cakes were from Sara… he still didn’t trust the alpha, not at all, but at least this meant that there wasn’t arsenic or something baked into the center.</p><p>And when Mila started eating her own slice with no qualms, Yuri couldn’t help but give in to the allure his own offered. It was light, some version of strawberry shortcake that he wasn’t quite familiar with, but, now having eaten, was sure that he <i>adored.</i> The cake was fluffy, the cream sweet as it melted on his tongue, and the strawberry chunks that adorned the slice the perfect balance of sweet and sour. Despite the reputation, Yuri’s pregnancy had been pretty much craving-free, Yuri’s occasional longing for piroshki aside, but now? Yuri thought he had met the food that would occupy his fantasies for the weeks (and, likely, <i>years)</i> to come.</p><p>He came back to earth, about to take a second bite (at this point, he wasn’t sure if he <i>cared</i> if there was arsenic in the cake, so long as he could keep eating it), when someone, very delicately, cleared their throat above him.</p><p>Yuri’s stomach sank. Hana stood at his shoulder, looking down at him with a positively deadly smile. “Good cake?” Her voice was saccharine, “I thought so, too. I wonder if Otabek would like it,” she reached out, “I’ll have to ask him next time we speak-- because there <i>will </i>be a next time.” And she retreated, Yuri’s cake in her hand.</p><p>Yuri bit his lip, stared at what would have been his lap, now obscured by his stomach, and tried to hold the fresh tears at bay. He’d<i> wanted</i> that.</p><p>***</p><p>“Otabek!” The voice carried, exasperated and desperate, from the kitchen doorway into the hall, where the persecuted stood. His mother sighed, and, without even looking, Otabek knew her hands were on her hips, the picture of maternal disapproval. </p><p>Unbothered, he bent to grab his scarf (a sunny yellow, pressed on him by Serena in a shocking display of goodwill) and gloves (black leather, thank god; he didn’t know how he’d handle Yuri seeing him adorned in pink, Hello Kitty mittens) from the chest by the door. </p><p>“You’re going to see him again, aren’t you?” Dahlia Altin asked as she moved into the foyer, though they both knew the answer as well as they knew their own names.</p><p>“It’s Friday.” Otabek replied simply, pulling on the gloves with his scarf already settled around his collar.</p><p>“You know, you are here to spend time with your mother-- would it<i> kill</i> you to miss a showing?” A decidedly unimpressed eyebrow was raised.</p><p>“I’ll be back before dinner.” Otabek said, giving his mother a quick peck on the cheek before he opened the door.</p><p>“I better get grandchildren out of this!” Was fired at his back, though the tone was fond; his mother understood, as much as she would berate him for it.</p><p>Otabek smiled, pulling the door shut and setting off into the sharp, wintery air. That was the goal.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I can't wait until next week.... muah-ha-ha.</p><p>Comments and kudos sending me soaring; if you would like to, you could help further my transformation into a firefly? ♥</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter 15 recap: The friend group has a few cute moments before I torture Yuri further with anxiety! Fun! Otabek makes some disconcerting allusions to December 24th which Yuri doesn't understand, but he catches on to the romantic undertones. Hana is a bitch and steals Yuri's cake; many commenters have threatened her with violence, and I concur. xD Finally, Otabek's mother shows her exasperation at Otabek's constant presence at the showings, calling after him that for all this time he won't spend with her, she better get grandkids! Otabek plans on it. xD</p><p>So, I would appreciate no death threats, but I <i>welcome</i> screaming and anger. Keep that in mind at the end of this chapter. ;)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Monday dawned, cold and grey, and Yuri spent a less pleasurable day than most in Otabek’s company. To be fair, the less-than-enjoyable moments were only felt on his part; he doubted Otabek had noticed at all. Nothing strange had happened, no ground-breaking pieces of information had been dropped, but… maybe Yuri was just crazy and reading too much into things. Probably, that was the case. But whatever the specific reason, Yuri hadn’t been able to help but notice during their time together that Otabek said a few things, made a few allusions-- allusions that, in all likelihood, could be passed off as friendly remarks, but maybe, just maybe, could have been… <i>Not </i>that.</p><p>The day grew marginally worse, though, when the end of it came. Yuri had been on the point of stripping out of his yukata and pulling on his pajamas, bed covers preemptively folded back for maximum-efficiency in escaping the cold exposure to the air, when the door to the dormitory had opened. Minami stood there, frozen for a moment with a bundle of clothing clutched to his chest, before he was ushered through, a guard at his back pushing him heavy-handedly over the threshold. The door snapped shut behind him, the lock clicked, and Minami looked upon the dormitory with anxious eyes, so small as he stood there, all alone, and flushing a light pink when he realized that every face was turned to his.</p><p>“Baby?” Someone asked eventually. He nodded tremulously. “Over here,” they sighed, gesturing him over to the vacant beds by the window. “Take one of these. There are blankets in the chest for the bed, and you need to fold your stuff and put it inside when you’re changed. Shoes should be lined up on the floor, and your blockers go on the table beside you. Don’t wake anyone up, don’t attract the guards, and <i>don’t</i> get in the way, and you’ll be fine.” Minami nodded, an overwhelmed child being handed a math test, and, as the other left him, made to take the bed across from Yuri’s. </p><p>At a quick shake of Yuri’s head, though, looking hurt and shocked, Minami changed course and instead occupied one a little farther away. He stared at Yuri as he sank onto it, reproachful and slighted, but the expression vanished when he remembered his instructions and jumped up again, hurrying to deposit his things on the bare cotton of the mattress and open the trunk at the foot of the bed.</p><p>Yuri sighed internally, continuing in his undressing and grimacing as his allotted nightclothes caught on his abdomen, prompting him to yank on the cloth and force it, unwieldy, over his bump. There were a few sniggers from around the room, but nothing too egregious; Yuri got into bed, ignoring them, and buried himself at the bottom of the threadbare pile of blankets.</p><p>He’d explain his reaction to Minami the following morning, he decided. It had been for the kid’s own sake: if he was seen fraternizing with Yuri, even so much as whispering to him across the gap between their beds or picking one deliberately near his, his life in the house would become infinitely harder. Yuri, if possible, wanted to shield him from that.</p><p>It was bad enough that he had been placed in the fifth rank right off the bat. Evidently, though Yuri hadn’t realized before Minami’s appearance in the dormitory, the “babies” (he still hated the term) had completed their perfunctory education at the house, allowing them to, for the first time, integrate into the normal ranks and dormitories-- even, once January hit, attending the showings. Their proficiencies in their studies, along with the matchmakers’ impressions of their aptitudes, had determined where they’d been placed; for other ranks (mostly the second and third) advancement to a higher position in the procession was possible. But when one was delegated to the fifth rank, the lowest of the slovenly rejects, one would remain there, the option to rise in respect all but removed. </p><p>Yuri pursed his lips. Minami had been alone at the door: he’d been the only one sorted into the fifth, even further ostracized from his fellows as the perceived runt of the litter. Yuri’s heart clenched for the kid; he’d <i>promised</i> himself that he wouldn’t get attached to him, but seeing him turn up here, trembling and afraid and <i>male…</i> Yuri had never been one for symbolism, but he’d always harbored a grudging respect for dramatic irony. He smoothed a hand over his nightshirt, cupping the formidable swell of his stomach under it, and resigned himself to doing everything he could to help Minami do better in the house than he had. He didn’t want such a miserable existence for the bright-eyed child; hope was a rare quality to find in an omega house, and Yuri would hate to see Minami’s stolen.</p><p>***</p><p>“Yuri! Yuri, Yuri, Yuri!” </p><p>Yuri let out a small sigh, shifting his gaze from the parasol in his hands to the overeager omega who was vibrating just behind him. He raised a singular eyebrow. “Somehow I doubt this is about Christmas.”</p><p>Minami, undaunted by Yuri’s less-than-zealous response, merely flopped down against the wall, briefly placing his head on Yuri’s shoulder but removing it quickly, appearing too wired to properly commit to the docile pose. He’d taken Yuri’s explanation well upon its delivery several days ago, and since had reverted in his behavior back to normal, though this level of enthusiasm was, as of yet, undemonstrated. “It kind of is-- Christmas Eve, anyway. Are you excited?” The kid practically <i>squealed.</i></p><p>Yuri spared him an unmoved glance. “I don’t think I’ve cared about anything Christmas-related since I was ten.”</p><p>“What?” The kid’s eyes blew wide, scandalized. “How? Even <i>today?</i> Are you immune to the delights of December 24th? Have all its charms been lost to you? Do you know <i>nothing</i> about what makes it so great?”</p><p>“Enlighten me.”</p><p>Put out, Minami turned to Mila, talking, as always, over Yuri’s body. “Tell me that at least <i>you</i> care! It’s the most romantic day of the year and, even though <i>Yuri,” </i>a huffy glare was sent his way, “can’t appreciate it,” Yuri chuckled at his indignation, “you<i> must.”</i></p><p>“Yeah,” Mila tilted her head in an impressive display of nonchalance, though a smile grew slowly over her face, “I guess I do. Sara’s coming to the showing this afternoon and she promised she’d put something really nice together. I don’t care all too much about that -- just seeing her is enough -- but, I don’t know,” she shrugged, biting her lip gently, “it’s nice to be thought of.”</p><p>Minami nodded vigorously. “I wish I had someone to spend today with. It seems so fun-- meeting a beau and knowing you’ll be mated in a few weeks’ time…” he trailed off, starry-eyed. Yuri pursed his lips but said nothing; he could disillusion him another day.</p><p>“I know,” Mila smiled, a quiet, private thing. “I kind of wish Sara and I could be mated today. I mean, I’m glad we’re not, but to have your anniversary be Valentine’s Day…”</p><p>Yuri glanced up then, amused by the oh-so-blatant oversight. “I think you’ve got your dates mixed up.” He snorted. “Valentine’s Day is in February.”</p><p>Mila blinked, looking vaguely puzzled, but Minami shook his head fervently. “Not in Japan,” he said, “I think it’s like that in the West, but here, Valentine’s Day is December 24th.”</p><p>
  <i>“Nothing for Christmas Eve?” Otabek asked, raising his eyebrows, “I would’ve thought that would be a big event.”</i>
</p><p>Ah, so that was it. With understanding, though, came a sick coil of dread in Yuri’s stomach. He didn’t know why, specifically, foreboding settled over him like a dark, dense shroud, but something about today… something about Otabek’s <i>mention</i> of today, didn’t sit well with him. He didn’t want to think about why that might be.</p><p>“Oh,” Yuri nodded, mulling this over. </p><p>“Are you seeing Otabek today?” Mila asked, everything from her narrowed, observant eyes to her implicatory tone of voice, sly. </p><p>“I’d assume so,” Yuri kept his eyes pointedly on his needlework. “He hasn’t missed a showing, yet.”</p><p>“No, he hasn’t,” Mila began to smile, a slow, creeping thing that promised nothing good. “It speaks volumes about his dedication. Not many alphas come to<i> every</i> showing.”</p><p>“Sara does.” Minami tried to help. Keyword: <i>tried.</i></p><p>“She does,” Mila’s grin widened, fox-like. “It really shows how much she loves me.”</p><p>“Yeah!” Minami agreed, before his eyes widened, finally cottoning on to what was being said between the lines. “Oh.” His pupils dilated further. “OH! Wait, Yuri, does he--”</p><p>“No.” Yuri said between clenched teeth, “He does not.”<i> I hope.</i></p><p>Minami looked taken aback, while Mila seemed put out, though appropriately mollified. Nothing more was said, but, in the silence, Yuri’s brain whirred uninterrupted with anxious thoughts of<i> does he…</i></p><p>***</p><p>Yuri exited the great, double doors of the house with unreasonable nerves. It was ridiculous; he’d never been anxious about seeing Otabek before, at least since he’d started trusting him, but… But. For the first time in a long time, Yuri just wanted the showing to be over, eager to retreat back to the safety of his closet. His closet, where anxiety-inducing holidays couldn’t be sprung on him and romantic allusions came from nowhere but his own brain. </p><p>Some strange, hand-wringing, and irrational part of Yuri hoped that Otabek wouldn’t be there when he reached the front of the garden, that the man would turn up the following day instead with apologies and recountings of his Valentine’s date. Yuri wished, however uselessly, however much he could do nothing toward that outcome, that he wouldn’t have to bear Otabek’s company today, wouldn’t have to smile at him and know it would end soon enough. He desired, quietly, sadly, that it <i>would</i> end, Otabek leaving on an early plane and sparing them both a painful goodbye.</p><p>His hopes were dashed, though, as they always were, when, stood in line with the other omegas, Yuri’s eyes found Otabek, waiting just outside the gate and adorned in a brilliant green scarf. It didn’t look like it should suit him, but it did, the contrast between the light, bright material and his dark coat impossibly attractive. </p><p>Yuri startled when the gong rang, eyes drawn, as ever they were, to Otabek, completely ignorant of his other surroundings. As he stepped out of line, he noticed that it had begun to snow.</p><p>Delicate, white flakes fluttered around him as he sat down on the bench across from where Otabek stood, and Yuri knew, certain after far too much experience in such matters, that they’d settle in his hair and on his shoulders, melting into his bun, making the singular blond tendril that had escaped its confines damp against his cheek, and sinking into his hanten, inspiring unsuppressed shivers in the near future. But here and now, safely in the moment, Yuri felt warm, the strange euphoria always inspired by Otabek’s affectionate gaze melting the nervous energy that had drawn Yuri taut like a wire. </p><p>And then he opened his mouth, and Yuri was reminded all too forcefully of why he’d been so anxious in his anticipation of this showing. “Hey,” Otabek said, smiling softly across the divide.</p><p>“Hi,” Yuri twitched the corners of his eyes into an acceptable response. </p><p>“How are you?”</p><p>“I’m well,” <i>Or, I will be if I get through today unscathed. </i>“You? You’re not wearing Dora mittens, so you’re obviously not as good as you could be, but still.”</p><p>Otabek laughed, “They were Hello Kitty, thank you very much. I would’ve worn them if they’d been Dora-- I have standards, Yura, come on.”</p><p>That drew an unwilling chuckle from Yuri as he imagined the sight, a small, dark-haired girl clumsily helping Otabek pull on pink and orange striped mittens, ten sizes too small and adorned with a grinning Boots on the front.</p><p>“But I’m good,” Otabek continued, nodding as if to affirm it to himself. “Really good, actually.” The smile Yuri received was all too hopeful.</p><p>“Business venture?” He guessed weakly. </p><p>“No.” Otabek shook his head, a conspiratorial sparkle in his eye. Yuri swallowed.</p><p>“Really?” He asked, “But it’s work-related? Your vacation will be up soon-- I imagine you’ll have to get back to the office, back to America, any day now.” His heart had no right to be pounding as quickly as it was. Nervous energy coursed through him, the likes of which Yuri hadn’t experienced since-- well, since <i>him. </i>It made him babble, and the effects were clearly noticed.</p><p>Otabek’s eyebrows creased slightly. “It has nothing to do with my job. And I work from my home office most of the time, anyway, so I can’t say that there’s any pressing need for me to return to the company building quite yet.”</p><p>“Something personal, then?” Yuri guessed, “your sister? Have you finally beat Serena in a thumb war, or is it something more realistic?”</p><p>Otabek smiled, shaking his head. “Definitely nothing to do with a thumb war. But hopefully, it is more realistic than a victory in that department; it’s something romantic, you see.”</p><p>“Oh.” Yuri forced a grin, insides twisting horribly. “A girl back home?”</p><p>Otabek stopped in the middle of a word. Blinked. Blinked again. And then-- “I’m gay.”</p><p> “So a guy?”</p><p>Discombobulated, Otabek looked helplessly at Yuri for a moment, seemingly sifting through some internal struggle (Yuri would bet it had something to do with the oddness of his behavior, for he wasn’t blind enough not to know that he was acting strange) before, strangely, something shifted in his expression, and he tilted his head, relaxing a bit. “Yeah, actually.”</p><p>Yuri’s insides chewed themselves up. This was <i>not</i> how today was supposed to go.  “So you’re even more eager to get back to America, then-- you have a love waiting for you across the ocean.” He quirked an eyebrow <strike>painfully</strike> playfully. “Does your mother know?”</p><p>“She does--” Otabek began,</p><p>“And she still wants you to come here?” Yuri interrupted, though there was a sour taste in his mouth. He wasn’t stupid: unless he was very much mistaken, Otabek’s ‘guy’ was him, but the rate at which he was flustering Otabek was promising. Maybe, with enough strategically placed interruption, they could get off the topic altogether. “Does she hate him that much?”</p><p>“She’s actually never met him,” Otabek said uncertainly,<i> (yes!), </i>but he forged courageously on, nonetheless (no!). “She wants to, though.”</p><p>“That’ll be fun,” Yuri nodded. Some snow was dislodged from where it had been melting atop his bun and he jerked as it fell against the back of his neck, icy and burning.</p><p>“I hope so,” Otabek smiled somewhat sheepishly. “I’m not sure if he’ll like her, but she’s promised to be on her best behavior when they do eventually meet.”</p><p>“Soon?” <i>If only he could change the topic--</i></p><p>“I think so, yeah,” he nodded, smiling a little more. “Today, maybe.”</p><p>Something hard lodged itself in Yuri’s throat, constricting his oxygen intake. “What are you doing here, then?” Yuri asked, aware by now that Otabek, while stubborn, was easy to overpower in a social situation. If Yuri refused to let him speak, he’d probably give up. The problem was, Yuri wasn’t sure if he <i>counted</i> as a social situation anymore. “It’s Valentine’s Day, go spend it with the man you love!” Otabek hadn’t actually admitted to love, yet, but whatever, Yuri could make the leap. He was about to lecture him, too brusquely, too forcefully, too aggressively to let him get a word in edgewise, when Otabek fit in the only two that mattered.</p><p>“I am.”</p><p>Yuri hadn’t expected that.</p><p>Struck dumb, heart doing palpitations in his chest, Yuri watched as Otabek chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck and looking away.</p><p>“… Sorry,” he said after a second, shrugging, “I planned to bring it up differently-- I had a whole speech written about why this was a good thing and no less than fifty reasons if you needed convincing, but…” he hesitated, “this works, too.”</p><p>Yuri couldn’t breathe. He stared at Otabek, lost for words, through the gate. <i>No, no, no--</i></p><p>Otabek, visibly nervous with the lack of Yuri’s reaction, laughed weakly. “I kind of wish I brought the list with me now,” he admitted, “I should’ve known I’d forget it immediately. But, um, I’m sure I can come up with something as I go.” He smiled, nervous and fidgety and<i> beautiful. </i>Yuri’s heart wrenched.</p><p>“Otabek--” he started, but Otabek cut him off.</p><p>“No, no,” he said quickly, “please, just let me get this out.”</p><p>He took a deep breath.</p><p>“I love you, Yura. I know that sounds crazy -- we’ve only known each other for two months -- but it’s true. I’m in love with you, and, if you let me, I want to get you out of here. Out of this place -- out of <i>Japan</i> -- with its ridiculous laws and impossible sexism. I want-- I want to bring you to America; I want you to be equal, to be able to do whatever you want to do, to be <i>happy.” </i>He gave a small, so earnest smile. “I want to make you happy. And I think I can,” he added quickly, “I know you’re miserable here: I know you’re treated terribly and you can’t act the way you normally would, but I think-- I think I make you happy. Even when you’re upset, and all you can do is bear it, I think… I <i>know,</i> that I at least don’t make it worse.”</p><p>Yuri swallowed. “How do you--” he swallowed again, “how do you figure?”</p><p>“You took my hand,” Otabek said simply, with such conviction that Yuri wanted both to cry and scream. “I’m not perfect, Yura, I don’t pretend to be, but I’m doing my best, and I want to do better for you. I <i>will</i> do better for you. Just give me a chance. Come to America.”</p><p>“You don’t even know me,” Yuri countered, horrified to find tears filling his eyes. “You don’t-- Otabek, I’m not who you think I am. The me you see at showings-- he’s not real, none of it is. I’m not the man you fell in love with.” The words, even from his own lips, were like a physical blow.</p><p>“You say that,” Otabek shook his head, passionate but not overwhelming, arguing but not silencing, one of the things Yuri loved about him. “But it’s not true. You’re a great actor, Yuri, really, you are, but every part you’ve played is a self-portrait. In the beginning, maybe, you were working hard not to let me see who you really are, but lately… lately, I think you’ve stopped. There’s no one, perfect version of someone -- people are constantly changing -- but I’ve seen myriads of versions of you. I can see through you, Yura, even if you don’t like it.”</p><p>“You’ve never even seen my face,” Yuri’s voice wavered, “how can you say that when you don’t even know what I look like?”</p><p>“Your eyes,” Otabek said simply, again with an earnestness that made Yuri want to kiss and kill him at the same time. “Everything else is semantics. Your eyes are strong; you’ve gone through hell but you’re still here, still fighting. You’re a warrior, and your eyes tell the tale.”</p><p><i>He wasn’t fighting when he’d opened his legs in the closet.</i> Yuri shook his head, his mind swimming. </p><p>“Yura,” Otabek started, his voice so <i>loving,</i> “come with me. Let me take you away from here.”</p><p>Yuri shook his head-- <i>no.</i></p><p>“We could go to Russia-- you could see your grandfather again!” </p><p>Yuri shook his head. <i>No. </i></p><p>“We can do whatever you want, Yura! Even if--” he hesitated, “even if that doesn’t include me.”</p><p>Yuri shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. <i>No! </i></p><p>“Just-- just come with me, Yura, and you can have <i>everything.</i> You can have your life back! Please, just, just let me help you get out of here.” He stopped, waiting for Yuri to respond, watching him with those desperate, <i>hopeful</i> eyes.</p><p>Tears clouded Yuri’s vision. Slowly, <i>ever so slowly,</i> he shook his head. “No.” He said softly, and it was an effort to keep his voice level. “No, Otabek.” He couldn’t bear to meet his eyes.</p><p>A beat of silence.</p><p>“W-” at last, Otabek spoke. He sounded like the world had been ripped away. “Why not?”</p><p>“I can’t,” Yuri scrubbed a hand over his eyes and hung his head. “I’m sorry, Otabek. You’re better off with someone else.”</p><p>“Why?” Otabek asked again. “Do you-- do you not love me?” Yuri couldn’t stop small tears as they spilled over. He sounded so <i>sad.</i></p><p>“Don’t ask me that,” Yuri ran his hands over his face, wiping violently at the unruly water droplets away. “Find someone else. Minami-- he’s wonderful, you’d like him.” His voice shook.</p><p><i>“Do you not love me?” </i>Otabek asked again, more forcefully than Yuri had ever heard him.</p><p>“Beka--” Yuri pleaded, hanging onto his composure by a thread.</p><p><i>“Yuri,”</i> he flinched at the use of his full name. “Please,” Otabek begged, quiet and desperate, <i>“do you love me?”</i></p><p><i>“Yes!” </i>Yuri put his face in his hands, giving up on wiping his tears. <i>“Yes,</i> I love you.”</p><p>“Then why--” Otabek was at a loss, desperately searching Yuri’s face once he raised it back into view. “Do you want to come to America with me?”</p><p>Yuri nodded, tired and wrung out and past his capacity to lie, “More than anything,” he said softly.</p><p>“Then why can’t you?” Otabek asked him, beseeching. “The matchmakers? Yura, I’ll talk to them-- nothing’s in our way!”</p><p>“You don’t understand.” Yuri ran a hand over his face.</p><p>“Well then help me to,” Otabek pleaded gently, quietening, “please, Yura, what’s going on that we can’t fix?”</p><p>The baby chose that exact moment to kick. Yuri let out a gasp of a sob, dropping a hand to his abdomen. He shook his head, “I can’t--”</p><p>“‘What?” Otabek asked softly. “What is it?”</p><p>“No,” Yuri closed his eyes hard, snow landing in his eyelashes and melting, mixing with the hot tears that ran down his face unrestrained. “I can’t tell you.”</p><p>“Yura--” </p><p>“No. I can’t-- I don’t want you to think of me like that.”</p><p>“Like what?” When he got no reply, Otabek let out a pained little cry. “Yura, I promise, whatever it is, it’ll be okay. We’ll face it together, you and me. Just-- just say <i>yes,</i> and we can start.”</p><p>But Yuri said nothing, his eyes red-rimmed and staring downward at the child he had lost everything to protect. He <i>would</i> lose everything to protect. He couldn’t say yes, as badly as he wanted to; if he did, he’d be accepting the mating, and he’d have to fold his parasol. He couldn’t let Otabek see him like this. He couldn’t handle the disappointment and revulsion that would paint the man’s face when he saw what his beloved <i>Yura </i>had been reduced to. Who he’d opened his legs to.</p><p>“Beka, stop this. Please. If you do care about me, don’t make me do this.” Yuri finally met Otabek’s gaze over the top of the parasol, tear-filled green eyes staring into watery brown. “Don’t make me lose all of your respect. I couldn’t handle that.”</p><p>“Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad, Yura,” Otabek said, “whatever it is, I promise, it won’t change how I feel about you. <i>Please,</i> Yura, say <i>yes.”</i></p><p>“I--”</p><p><i>“Yura,”</i> he let out a broken sob, for the first time allowing the tears to run down his cheeks, painting shining streaks across his warm, tan skin. </p><p>And that broke him. It was better this way, Yuri reasoned; he didn’t want Otabek to know, didn’t want him to bear witness to his shame, but if Otabek hated him, it would make separation that much easier.</p><p>Slowly, <i>ever</i> so slowly, Yuri nodded.<i> “Yes,” </i>he whispered, and set trembling hands on the handle of his umbrella, running frozen fingers up the stem and gently, very lightly, applying pressure to the little notch that allowed it to open and close. It closed.</p><p>Yuri stood, setting the parasol on the bench beside him to blend in with the accumulating snow, and carefully got to his feet. One hand was braced on the bench and another rested at the roundest part of his swollen, very pregnant abdomen. </p><p>Otabek said nothing.</p><p>“This is my second matchmaking house,” Yuri began, resigned to explaining his terrible tale at last, to an audience he wasn’t sure could even hear him. Otabek’s eyes never left his stomach, shock written in his face. “I presented late, at 22, and was taken to one in Russia. I stayed there for two months, and was mated at my very first showing,” his face twisted, “his name was Alexei. I was his pet. We spent two years traveling Europe, and we were in Japan when we realized I was pregnant.” He let out a bitter laugh. “He didn’t want kids, and abortion was illegal in both Russia and Japan, where we would stay for the next three months. By the time we left, it would be too late to abort it somewhere else, and, well, I wasn’t worth the trouble. He brought me here, paid the matchmakers God knows how much to take me, and made sure his name wouldn’t be on the birth certificate. I met you three months later.</p><p>“I didn’t want you to know-- to have that opinion of me.” Yuri shrugged, the tears dry on his cheeks. “I guess it doesn’t matter.” He turned to go, uncaring that the showing wasn’t over, uncaring that the guards wouldn’t be happy with him, uncaring that his sinfully white parasol still lay discarded, growing buried under still-falling snow. Simply uncaring.</p><p>“Yuri--”</p><p>Yuri closed his eyes, swallowing before he could speak. “Goodbye, Beka.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm a little worried that I drew out that ending scene for too long, but I am mainly ;))))))</p><p>PLEASE comment your thoughts! Incoherent screaming is welcome! ♥</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter 17</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter 16 recap: We learn the significance of December 24th in Japan, and Minami is booted into the fifth rank. The gang has a cute, bantering scene, and Yuri goes to the showing on Christmas Eve, anxious for what he thought might be coming. AND LO AND BEHOLD, Otabek asks to mate him, Yuri refuses, tells his story, confesses his love, and runs when confronted with Otabek's silence. And, folks, believe me when I tell you that it ONLY GETS WORSE. XD</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mila found him later -- he didn’t know how much later, only that it was later -- in his closet, broken and unresponsive and sobbing so hard he couldn’t speak. Minami was at her heels, and Yuri registered his voice, frightened, asking her what had happened. He didn’t hear her response, but knew a moment later that two sets of arms were embracing him, the second trembling slightly. Of course, Minami had never seen him break down like this. Truthfully, neither had Mila, not so completely or on this scale. </p><p>They held him anyway. </p><p>***</p><p><i>It was better this way, </i>that’s what he kept telling himself; it was <i>better, </i>for <i>both</i> of them, though he couldn’t say he truly believed it. In a way, the scenario was Schroedinger’s cat, just another example of metaphysical realism and why Yuri <i>hated</i> it.</p><p>He would never see Otabek again, that was a given, and so, without any information on his whereabouts and wellbeing, Yuri could believe whatever he wanted. He could subscribe to the version of events that was most likely to be the truth: that Otabek would fly back to America that day, Yuri a bitter, repulsive aftertaste of Japan. <i>Or, </i>he could follow his own line of events, however improbable they were. Yuri could choose to believe, no matter what logic dictated, that Otabek had gone home with a hole in his heart, that he still loved him desperately, but had decided to leave him to his own life. Yuri liked that idea better, that Otabek loved him, would continue to love him, until his dying day, but only ever from afar. He could create his own reality, and what was real to him was Otabek’s devotion from across the seas.</p><p>Still. That didn’t make it any easier to get out of bed. Minami had begged, pleaded, disregarded everything Yuri had told him as far as not associating with him in public, but Yuri had refused. He didn’t want dinner, he didn’t want breakfast, he didn’t care if the guards would drag him downstairs for it anyway, he wasn’t hungry. Astoundingly, his absence at dinner hadn’t resulted in any punishment that Yuri could perceive; if he were in a better state, he might’ve wondered why this was, but right now contented himself with shutting his eyes, figuring that Mila had had something to do with it.</p><p>He appreciated it more than words could say.</p><p>Yuri had had bad break-ups in the past, but this-- this was something he never could’ve imagined. It was like a physical pain, squirming through his intestines and sending his head swimming whenever he so much as tried to <i>think</i> about the man he’d never see again. So tangible was this anguish that it almost overwhelmed the discomfort of the baby kicking him, tantruming about something or other-- the lack of food, most likely. He couldn’t bring himself to care too much: two missed meals wouldn’t kill them, and he’d get up again when he felt better, for right now he couldn’t even begin to contemplate leaving his bed, old and uncomfortable though it was.</p><p>He just… he needed a minute. A minute to grieve. A minute to resign. Because even if Otabek <i>did</i> still love him, it was still from afar, and that was still a hard pill to swallow.</p><p>He could swallow it tomorrow.</p><p>***</p><p>Mila glanced up from the top of the table, searching for a head of blond among the milling brunets. A snatch of gold glinted in her peripheral vision and she let out a small sigh of relief, smiling to herself as she turned in her seat to face-- Minami, scurrying up to her with his brows drawn taut, his dyed-blond hair the mistaken beacon of hope.</p><p>“He still won’t come?” Mila sighed.</p><p>“I think something’s wrong.” Minami completely ignored her, the picture of earnest, urgent distress.</p><p>Immediately, Mila tensed. Completely ignoring the dirty looks thrown in her direction by the other members of the first rank, she gave Minami her undivided attention. “What is it?” She asked, as Hana, from her throne-like position to Mila’s left, watched the exchange keenly, unveiled interest glinting in her eyes.</p><p>“It’s Yuri,” <i>obviously,</i> “I went up a few minutes ago to see him if I could convince him to come down for lunch, but he--” </p><p>“What?" Mila asked, with mounting anxiety.</p><p>“He’s in heat.” </p><p>Mila blinked; she would’ve scolded the kid for joking around, had it not been for the genuine fear in his face. <i>“What?”</i> She hissed, though she was quickly beginning to understand Minami’s present state. “That’s-- he can’t--”</p><p>“He<i> is,” </i>Minami replied, and wasted no time in enclosing his hand around her wrist, pulling her up from the table and through the mob of omegas starting to take their seats. A guard shifted when Minami dragged Mila out of the hall, but at a quick shake of the head from her, he remained still, allowing their anxious flight up to the fifth rank’s dormitory. </p><p>Mila would have to pay for that one later, they all knew it, but the future condition of her body mattered nothing when Yuri’s was on the line.</p><p>Several minutes later, only slightly out of breath, the pair skidded to a halt outside the door to the dormitory, and, wasting no time in pulling it open, were hit square in the face with a blast of heat scent.</p><p>Which would’ve been more than enough to send Mila spiraling into a fast but powerful panic attack, but the scent coupled with the view of Yuri limp on the bed, a guard leaning over him <i>just so, </i>kicked Mila’s heart into overdrive.</p><p>She didn’t think. She bolted over to Yuri’s bedside, swinging around and narrowly missing a collision with the guard who’d just straightened up, Yuri unconscious, <i>helpless,</i> in his arms. His head lolled against his shoulder, blond hair disheveled and sweat-drenched, and he let out a tiny whimper at the movement.</p><p>“What are you doing?” Mila demanded, following directly behind the guard <i>(Eiji,</i> whispered a voice in her head) as he took long strides across the dormitory, ducking under the doorway and just barely ensuring that Yuri’s head wasn’t bashed against the frame. Mila heard a small squeak, and paid Minami no mind as she flew down the stairs, sure the kid was hot on her heels in pursuit. “Where are you taking him?” Mila asked again, but her teeth grit and heart began to pound when she realized their destination. </p><p>“The heat room,” the guard <i>(Eiji,</i> said the persistent little voice) grunted, confirming Mila’s fear.</p><p>“No,” she replied at once, “take him to the infirmary. He’s sick!”</p><p>“He’s in heat,” Eiji replied, shouldering through the door carelessly. As Mila watched, a few strands of Yuri’s hair caught on the lock and ripped out, leaving broken, blond tendrils floating ominously at the threshold. “It’s normal.”</p><p>“Not when he’s <i>pregnant!”</i> Mila barely managed to withhold the hysteria threatening to choke her. This was Yuri, her rock, the calm, wonderful constant throughout all her storms, no matter how silly they may have been. This -- Yuri, hurt and weak, at the complete and defenseless mercy of a guard -- was nothing less than <i>wrong. </i>It scared her, almost more than she could express, to see him so vulnerable.</p><p>But panicking would do nothing to help him, to procure for him the care he so obviously needed, so she took a breath, forcibly calming herself, and willed her scent to turn alluring even around the blockers she wore. </p><p>“Look,” she sidled up to Eiji, pressing against him and forcing herself not to react when he dumped Yuri, with only marginally more care than he would a sack of potatoes, onto the damp cement floor. “I’m sure we can work something out,” her fingers danced delicately up his arm. </p><p>He stilled. <i>Yes. </i></p><p>“If you could take him to the infirmary,” eyelash-batting, “I’m sure I could make it worth your while.” She gave her coyest, most teasing smile. “Pretty please?”</p><p>Eiji hummed, draping an arm carelessly, <i>possessively</i> around her hip. She fought to keep the disgust coiling within her off her face. </p><p>
  <i>For Yuri. </i>
</p><p>“I’d like to, baby,” hot breath on her neck as he nuzzled against her ear, “but I can’t do that. The orders about what to do with him come from up above.”</p><p>Mila’s breath caught.“The matchmakers?”</p><p>He nodded.</p><p>“Why?” Maybe she was pushing her luck with the sexy angle by asking, by stilling and forgetting to react to the drawn-out lick along the line of her jaw. She didn’t care. “Surely they want him to get better.” </p><p>Eiji only hummed, the sound vibrating across her body as his hands wandered lower, his lips moved higher. And then it hit her, dread curling down her spine and immobilizing her, freezing her mind from the inside out.</p><p>“No,” Mila, in the wake of her realization, pushed Eiji away, her limbs breaking out of the ice encasing them. This was-- it couldn’t-- but it could, and Mila very well knew it. Yuri, the ‘problem’ that he was, could very well die from a bad heat-- and this surely couldn’t be anything else. If the matchmakers refused him medical attention…  “No,” Mila repeated, stumbling away, shock forcing any semblance of coordination from her movements, horror slowing them. “They wouldn’t-- they wouldn’t just<i> leave</i> him to…”</p><p>Eiji shrugged when she turned to him, eyes wide and searching, desperate to be wrong. She wasn’t, though. And they both knew it.</p><p>Mila’s head swam, thoughts flying through her brain as she searched for something, <i>anything, </i>that would stop this, that would help. And then everything cleared, the final puzzle piece clicking into place. If the matchmakers were content to let Yuri die, unbothered by his illness and disregarding him as a prospectless problem… Mila would give them a reason to want him alive.</p><p>“Otabek,” she hissed, looking, unseeing, past Eiji and into Minami’s pale, petrified face where he waited by the door. His pupils dilated and he nodded rapidly, following her train of thought.</p><p>“What?” Eiji asked, Very Obviously operating on a singular brain cell, the majority of his blood further south than it was currently needed. Mila didn’t give a shit.</p><p>“What time is it?” She demanded, and, though his eyebrows creased, Eiji glanced at his wristwatch. </p><p>“4:10,” he said, “what the fuck is--”</p><p>And Mila was already halfway to the door. On another day, she would’ve been panicked because the showing had already started and she would be punished for getting there late, but today-- today she was fucking<i> thrilled. </i>She just needed to be right in her anticipation of who would be in attendance.</p><p>Yuri, from the ground, let out a tiny, barely audible whimper. Mila wheeled around, and then fucking ran.</p><p><i>“No!” </i>She shoved Eiji out of the way, arriving, this time, right when she needed to. The guard grunted, stumbling back, and glared at her, dick still out.</p><p>“What the hell was that for!”</p><p>“You can’t!” Mila shouted, fury incarnate. “You’ll be fired! You can’t touch him when he’s in heat!”</p><p>“He’s already knocked up,” a head jerk in the direction of Yuri, curled as much as possible away from his would-be attacker. “And you got me hard. Want to deal with that?”</p><p>Mila could<i> kill.</i> But she had work to do.</p><p>“Minami!” She shouted, and the kid jumped to attention at the door, terror written on his face. “I’ll be right back, don’t let that-- <i>that</i> touch him while I’m gone.”</p><p>White as a sheet but resolved, Minami marched into the room, taking Mila’s place between Yuri and Eiji as she left.</p><p>Sprinting up through corridors and stairwells to get to the hall, trying not to think about the scene she’d left behind, Mila had one thought and one thought only circulating through her head.<i> Get to Otabek. </i>She pushed past the guards at the door, tore out of the main hall, and bolted down through the gardens, skidding red-faced and sweaty into view of the gate. She received many odd-looks and Sara called out to her, shock and worry written in her features, but Mila paid it no mind, eyes locked on her target.</p><p>Her blood boiled as she spotted Otabek in his usual spot, conversing awkwardly with Hana, who perched daintily on Yuri’s bench. A bouquet of yellow roses dangled from Otabek’s hands and his obvious disinclination for conversation was being thoroughly ignored; Hana couldn’t have been more flirtatious if she’d been trying (and she <i>was</i> trying, Mila was sure), and, as she ever had been, was evidently incapable of taking <i>no </i>for an answer.</p><p>“Otabek!” Mila charged, and the man looked up, recognition flitting across his face before intermingled confusion and concern took it over. </p><p>“Are you o--” he began, but she cut him off, thrusting the gate open. (It was never locked when the omegas were out, left closed but passable in some flowery metaphor she didn’t have the energy or interest to unravel. Instead of iron chains, guards lined the periphery of the garden, and they all knew enough that Mila would reward them well for letting her get away with this, and they let them pass.)</p><p>“Hurry up,” Mila grabbed Otabek’s wrist, yanking him inside the grounds and dragging him at a run up the grassy slope while he struggled to comprehend this startling turn of events. His questions died on his lips, though, when she simply said, “It’s Yuri,” and he quickened his pace.</p><p>Down through the spiraling staircases, down past the endpoint for proper flooring and into the damp, mildewing, concrete basement below. They skidded to a halt just inside the heat room, and Minami looked around in blatant relief as they appeared, his position body blocking Eiji from getting anywhere near Yuri immovable, though he shook like a leaf while holding it.</p><p>“What--” Otabek began, eyes moving from Minami, pale-faced and a moment away from hyperventilation, to Eiji, out for blood, to Yuri, sprawled out on the ground, unresponsive.</p><p>“You love him,” Mila said, grabbing Otabek’s shoulders and wheeling him around to face her, tearing his eyes from where they, a moment ago, had been locked on Yuri. “I know you do. So you need to help him; he’s sick, he’s in heat, something is <i>wrong,</i> and the matchmakers won’t do anything because he has no prospects for a mating. Say something, do something, fucking do <i>anything, </i>I don’t care, but get them to <i>help him!” </i></p><p>A beat. Mila’s heart threatened to burst out of her chest. And then Otabek ripped himself away from her, falling to his knees next to Yuri and whipping out his phone, speaking into it more quickly than Mila’s overwrought brain could keep up with.</p><p>She sank down to her knees at Yuri’s other side, adrenaline jittering through her and Minami huddling himself under one arm. Eiji had been driven away, storming off, doubtlessly, to find a matchmaker, and leaving them alone in the room, watching Otabek watching Yuri with wild eyes. The phone was hung up, and Otabek reached out, as though to cup Yuri’s cheek, but stopped himself, settling into the nervous silence and stillness of the room, knuckles white at his sides. Together, they waited, in desperate, thick suspense, for help to come.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I DIDN'T LIE, DID I? XD</p><p>*Small note: The showing Mila goes to during this chapter not a regular, weekly one. This one is one specifically held for Christmas, because while matches are <i>made</i> on Christmas Eve, they often can't be executed for at least another week, and it's good advertising for the matchmakers to allow the couples to be together for Christmas. It wasn't mentioned in the chapter, only because this is a more action-packed one and the info-dump would've been out of place. Thanks!*</p><p>Comments and kudos fuel me! If you would like to throw gasoline on the fire, I'd love some! ♥</p>
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<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Chapter 18</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter 17 recap: Yuri, devastated, goes into heat on Christmas day. After figuring out that the matchmakers will leave him to die, Mila goes to get Otabek, begging him to do something to get help for Yuri, while Minami keeps the guard who raped him, Eiji, from hurting Yuri, too.</p><p>Hi, hello, can I just take a moment to thank you guys for all the comments bestowed on me over the last few chapters? It means so much to me and I truly appreciate it. ♥<br/>Also, let me draw your attention to my next announcement. If you read <i>Shattering Glass</i> (and you should! It's SO much better than this!), you'll know that I have a bit of a habit of choosing a "theme song" for my multichapter fics. For this once, after much deliberation, I have chosen "You Matter to Me" from <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AREDtpRZTSA"><i>Waitress</i></a>. I highly recommend that you give it a listen! ♥</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Otabek was pulled through winding, maze-like hallways, passages sliding through his view as he raced ever deeper under the house, pulled along by Mila, her hair flashing as she ran ahead of him.</p><p><i>It’s Yuri,</i> she had said, and that had been enough. Anything that had Mila distressed enough to behave as she was (according to Yuri, she was normally the picture of poise) had to be bad, and given that Otabek had been grabbed so desperately and kidnapped into the depths of the omega house… this was no run-of-the-mill inconvenience.</p><p>Another flight of stairs, and they came to a halt inside a large, bare room, completely void of any furnishings and, in Otabek’s opinion, unfit to belong to a facility that housed people-- that was, if the greying, mildewed walls and pervasive smell of damp were anything to go by.</p><p>In the center of the all-but unoccupied space, immediately drawing Otabek’s eye, stood a young male omega, clearly terrified: trembling, though his stance was firm. Across from him, the object of his fear, was an alpha; tall for the national average and sturdily built, bedecked in attire Otabek knew guards of the house to wear, and glaring at the quivering omega with a fervor that could not entirely be attributed to loathing. There was Mila, by Otabek’s side and commanding his attention, her nails digging into his biceps tightly enough to hurt through his jacket, her voice ricocheting around the shambles of a room. And there, curled helpless on the ground, just behind the omega boy, was Yuri. </p><p>Yuri, who encompassed everything. Who was made of careful, hidden smiles, tiny tidbits about himself to be treasured, secrets painstakingly guarded; the best actor that Otabek was learning to see right through. And he was currently reduced to a shivering, whimpering, weakly writhing mess on the concrete.</p><p>In seconds, Otabek was at his side. Pulling out his phone, barking into it and calling in every favor he had to get a doctor to come out at such short notice. Moving to stroke Yuri’s cheek before refraining, pulling back, terrified of hurting him, somehow.</p><p>Cell phone now silent, the guard long gone up the staircase down which Otabek had descended, Otabek sat on the floor, gazing helplessly at the desperate, beautiful,<i> pained</i> features before him, waiting. </p><p>He hadn’t looked properly at first, too preoccupied with the swollen belly Yuri boasted to pay any attention to his face; but now, paralyzed by the venom that was his inability to help him, he could do nothing but stare. Tendrils of long blond hair coiled around Yuri’s face, the roots sweat-darkened and the ends tangled, fanning out, unrestrained, around his head like a halo. His skin was so terribly pale, a color that would’ve resulted in a creamy, glowing complexion if not for the sickly, sweaty pallor that had turned it ashen, the cold that flushed the tip of that graceful, upturned nose red. His lips were chapped, but a soft pink. His eyes, so loved and so well known -- Otabek’s favorite of his features, even now that he’d seen them all -- were closed and hidden behind a veil of long, pale lashes. </p><p>His jaw, sharp.</p><p>His neck, a long, thin column that swooped in a graceful arch to the collarbone just visible (yet far too prominent) beneath his night clothes.</p><p>His abdomen, large, swollen, housing the child Yuri had had to hide for so long.</p><p>He was beautiful, simply put. Elegant, ethereal, a creature too perfect for his surroundings, too good to have been subjected to all they entailed.</p><p>And as Otabek sat there, afraid to touch but desperate to comfort, listening to the pitiful, quiet whines and watching the small, weak writhings of the man he loved, his emotions changed. </p><p><i>How </i>could anyone have done this-- <i>who</i> could’ve done this? Hurt Yuri so readily, so willingly, so unflinchingly denied him any type of the care he so desperately required-- not even the bare minimum?<br/>
Otabek was seething; he was irate; he was <i>incandescent </i>with rage. Someone’s head would end up on a pike by the time he was done, someone’s business destroyed, someone’s entire, sick <i>invention</i> of the omega houses <i>ripped to shreds</i> by Otabek alone if he had to, and-- and Yuri let out a tiny whimper, his face twisting. Immediately, Otabek registered the fog of <i>anger</i> clouding the room and let out a blast of <i>calm.</i> Yuri’s face smoothed out, and when Otabek brushed his palm over his cheek, unable to stop himself yet <i>ever so gentle,</i> Yuri leaned into it. Otabek’s heart squeezed.</p><p>***</p><p>The room was a-flurry with motion, the dingy, dilapidated basement transforming into a place fit for habitation before Otabek’s eyes. Where before there had been damp, probably moldy cement, there was now a cleaner, lighter shade of the same-- still damp, but certainly an improvement. Where before there had been bare walls, a completely empty space, there were now medical machines; attendants, nurses, and Otabek had no idea who, rushing around. Where before Yuri had lain, shivering, drenched in sweat, and curled on a hard, cold floor, he was now tucked into a bed, too small for it despite his large stomach, yet safely ensconced under the thick, warm covers.</p><p>Otabek stood at the foot of his bed, watching, almost dazed, as people moved around him. He found that he was struggling to focus on anything that was not Yuri or the doctor, and the scent of heat which swirled around the room, weak though it was, yet more intoxicating than it had any right to be, certainly wasn’t helping.</p><p>“How far along is he?”</p><p>Mila (the friend Yuri had mentioned so often, the one who had brought Otabek here) bit her lip, glancing over at him and shaking her head. “I-- I really don’t know-- I doubt he does either. More than seven months, I think? Maybe eight?”</p><p>“Has he had any check ups that you know of?” The doctor asked, looking up from her clipboard as her lips pursed.</p><p>“No,” Mila shook her head again. “Wait-- um, he had one, I think? Two weeks ago. The matchmakers brought in someone and gave him an ultrasound and stuff to make sure the baby was healthy enough to be adopted easily.”</p><p>“And was the baby?”</p><p>“I--” Mila gestured helplessly, “I think so? The baby is small, but I think they’re okay. They wouldn’t tell Yuri anything and he was so upset I couldn’t get much out of him.”</p><p><i>Two weeks ago,</i> Otabek ground his teeth. When Yuri had come to the showing in tears, devastated, but had refused to talk about it. Of course-- it had been about this. The reaction dispelled any worry, however faint, Otabek had, that Yuri was unhappy about the existence of the child.</p><p>“Okay,” the doctor nodded, though the line of her mouth only tightened. “We’ll be able to check that once everything is set up. Does Mr. Plisetsky have any preexisting medical conditions? Any allergies? A next of kin to contact?”</p><p>Mila swallowed, tears swimming in her eyes. “His grandfather in Moscow, but he hasn’t seen him in years-- I don’t think he even knows his phone number.”</p><p>“Anything else?” The doctor probed, “Anything at all is useful.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” and she really looked it, Otabek thought. She’d refused to leave when the matchmakers had tried to force her, all but wrestling her friend, the quivering male omega, out of the room, and had only been allowed to stay because Otabek had shouted the matchmakers down. He wasn’t one to raise his voice, not unless it was absolutely necessary, but he’d threatened the matchmakers with everything he had when they’d tried to kick him out of the house, to prevent Yuri from receiving the help Otabek had called in. Mila was the closest thing to family Yuri had; if she wanted to stay, she was going to<i> stay.</i></p><p>“It’s not your fault,” the doctor set a kind hand on Mila’s shoulder before turning to Otabek, addressing him as she would family, given that he had been the one who had called her here.</p><p>“I can’t make a positive diagnosis until we can run some tests,” she said, “but based on what you’ve told me about your last interaction with Mr. Plisetsky, I think this heat is a product of severe emotional turmoil.</p><p>“There’s something called Pregnancy-Related Rejection Syndrome, have you heard of it?” Otabek shook his head. “It’s a condition that exists exclusively in omegas-- quite rare, nowadays, but something we warn about at prenatal appointments. I don’t know how familiar you are with evolution, Mr. Altin, but there’s an attachment instinct in bonded omegas-- it’s one of the reasons the alpha/omega mating is so sacred. See, in bondings, especially new ones, every instinct omegas have is to keep their alpha with them, to make sure they won’t leave. Often after having a fight, having a spouse leave the house to cool down or whatnot -- sometimes even when one partner has to go away without the other -- it will affect the omega. In extreme cases, like I expect this one is, the body will take the emotional upheaval, add it to the hormonal changes induced by pregnancy, and understand that the alpha has left for good, at which point the body will do everything it can to get them back by showing what a good mate it can be. Namely, through a heat. </p><p>“Now, this syndrome is very rare and almost exclusively found during the first trimester, and with the awareness of the omega in question about this condition, the heat is often caught early enough to be stopped medically. Mr. Plisetsky’s case, in addition to occurring very late in term, has progressed past the point where we can administer hormones to stop the heat.”</p><p>“What are you saying?” Otabek’s heart was beating rather faster than he thought it should have been. “There has to be something you can do.”</p><p>“And there is,” the doctor said quickly, placatingly, “we’ll sedate him for the duration of the heat -- another 24 hours or so, I expect -- and keep an eye on both his and the baby’s vitals to make sure the fever doesn’t affect them.”</p><p>“Why would a fever--” Otabek shook his head, lost, “how do you even know this <i>is</i> Pregnancy-Related… Risk Disorder? We’re not mated, Yuri’s initial bond was broken months ago-- there’s nothing that could’ve brought this on.”</p><p>“Pregnancy-Related Rejection Syndrome. The fever induced by the heat could be dangerous because during pregnancy, when the body temperature rises above a certain point, it can be harmful to the fetus, and by extension, the mother. This happens mainly in the first trimester, but the risk remains enough for us to monitor, though it’s greatly reduced. And as for the mating,” she gave Otabek a pained smile. “After the description of what happened when you last saw each other, your technical mating status would’ve been rendered largely irrelevant. You two have spent a lot of time together, as I understand it, and with enough hormonal compatibility, the body’s instincts can be tricked fairly easily-- especially since Mr. Plisetsky is pregnant, therefore more vulnerable. And, excuse me for saying so, you two clearly care deeply for each other; emotions, perhaps above all else, are key to this and may other Omega-Related syndromes, Mr. Altin.”</p><p>Otabek nodded wordlessly, heart in his throat, and looked to Yuri, lying in bed, motionless and face twisted in pain.</p><p>A hand on his arm, and Otabek found the doctor staring at him, giving him a sympathetic, truly apologetic smile. “I know this is hard, Mr. Altin, but we’re doing everything we can to ensure that both Mr. Plisetsky and the baby come through this unscathed.”</p><p>He went to sit by Yuri’s bed.</p><p>***</p><p>Twelve hours came and went with little distinction in Otabek’s mind. One of the nurses who appeared periodically from God knew where pressed a bowl of soup and some bread into his hands, took Yuri’s and the baby’s vitals, and left again. He set the bowl aside, untouched.</p><p>He’d given up the last of his qualms about touching Yuri around hour four or so. Watching him lie there, still and quiet, sedated though still shining with perspiration, whimpering from time to time, was almost unbearable; Otabek wanted to <i>help,</i> to do<i> something,</i> to ease Yuri’s pain. </p><p>Eventually, he took his hand, gently brushing sweat-soaked hair off his forehead with his other. Yuri snuffled softly, nosing into his wrist where it was positioned just by his face.</p><p>
  <i>Of course, the scent. </i>
</p><p>Carefully, and with much creative twisting, Otabek managed to extricate himself from his sweater and drape it over Yuri, who visibly relaxed at the scent of <i>alpha.</i> Then, just in case, Otabek tucked his wrist a few inches away from Yuri’s face on the pillow, and smiled when, a second later, Yuri’s breathing evened a little further.</p><p>Only to hitch slightly a moment later. Otabek frowned, eyebrows bunching together, and glanced up and down Yuri’s body, watching for anything that could signal sudden discomfort. A cramp, maybe? Yuri had been in the same position for a while, lying on his right side, head on the pillow and blankets draped over him. Just as Otabek was raking his gaze up again, though, he caught the small, almost imperceptible movement.</p><p>The baby was kicking. That had to have been what it was. What else would cause sudden, small spasms in Yuri’s abdomen? Otabek bit his lip, relief coursing through him while confusion trod a similar path. </p><p>His hand itched to reach out and stretch across Yuri’s stomach, perhaps to calm the child, but he refrained. As it was, this… <i>occupation</i> of Yuri’s bedside had always felt personal, private, something Otabek wasn’t quite sure he had earned the right to experience. But now, it was <i>intimate.</i> </p><p>It felt wrong to touch him suddenly, with Yuri lying unconscious on the bed, to want to rest a hand over the thing Yuri was most protective of. Perhaps it was one thing to hold Yuri’s hand, a slightly different once to brush his hair out of his face, a bigger deal still, to offer his scent as a way to ease the pain Yuri was doubtlessly experiencing, but touching his unborn child-- that seemed like too much. </p><p>Even if he really wanted to calm the baby down. </p><p>Even if the baby had only started kicking when Otabek had given Yuri his scent.</p><p>Even if Yuri let out a quiet sigh, and nudged his nose further into the hollow of Otabek’s wrist.</p><p>***</p><p>It had been twenty-four hours. Yuri still hadn’t woken up.</p><p><i>Should I try mating him?</i> Otabek had asked the doctor, <i>Doesn’t a bond mark end heats?</i> Even though he hated the idea of tying Yuri into a match when he couldn’t consent, anything had to be better than <i>this,</i> and they could break the bond if he wanted to. Even if the thought made Otabek’s innards twist unpleasantly.</p><p><i>No, </i>the doctor had looked sympathetic as she’d said it, <i>he’s too weak; it wouldn’t take.</i></p><p>So they waited.</p><p>***</p><p>And waited.</p><p>Mila had come in the morning, the scared, male omega in tow, and now sat behind Yuri on the bed, brushing and gently braiding his hair. Otabek had vacated his chair so the other could sit, too, taking Otabek’s post holding Yuri’s hand. </p><p><i>Minami,</i> he thought, and stood, watching, from the foot of the bed. </p><p>They were all anxious, though none would say it-- <i>had</i> said more than a “good morning”, even. It had been nearly 36 hours with no change, and the sedative had worn off around the 24 hour mark; heats lasted for 48 at most, and this one had started well before Otabek had been notified. There was no reason for Yuri not to have woken up.</p><p><i>It might just be extreme exhaustion,</i> the doctor had suggested, failing to conceal the anxiety in her tone,<i> his and the baby’s vitals are good-- we’d know if something was wrong. </i></p><p>They clung to the hope.</p><p>***</p><p>Yuri was tired. More tired, perhaps, than he had ever been. He didn’t want to wake up, to face the house and the results of him clearly having overslept-- couldn’t he just stay in bed, allow himself to recover from whatever had made him feel like a dragon had chewed him up and spit him out?</p><p>The fact that no one had come to get him, though, had dragged him out from under the thick, plush covers he was currently nestled in, off to some kind of punishment, was suspicious. Enough so that Yuri gradually gathered the courage to investigate, because, whether he would’ve liked to claim so or not, his little cot in the fifth rank’s dormitory had <i>never</i> felt so comfortable before.</p><p>And, go figure, he wasn’t in the dormitory when he opened his eyes.</p><p>They hurt, and his vision blurred at first, his eyelids leaden and open in only the smallest of slits, but he could see enough to know that the outlines of the things in the room weren’t those that he was used to. He blinked, closing his eyes again for long enough that when he reopened them, they didn’t feel as much like he’d been staring at screens for long enough to give him a migraine. </p><p>The room was brighter than he’d initially thought, lights on, and relatively bare. A low beeping registered, and he blinked once again, heckling himself even as he did so about how that would help, but after several moments, was reassured that the noise was not tinnitus, but something electronic, positioned just behind his head.</p><p>His skull was heavier than it rightly should’ve been, but he managed, shifting it enough to see several machines blinking and beeping at him from along an otherwise uniformly-grey wall. With a chair set in front of it. </p><p>Oh.</p><p>“You’re awake,” Otabek breathed, staring at him and as quiet as though he expected him to fade away. “Thank God, you’re-- Yuri?”</p><p>Yuri looked away from the vague panic on Otabek’s face, staring instead at the off-white of his pillowcase. A tear dripped down the bridge of his nose. He closed his eyes, a dull pulsing behind them making the brightness of the room unbearable, the heft of the situation insurmountable. </p><p>“Yura?” He registered the hands clasped gently around his own. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”</p><p>“Beka,” his voice was soft, hoarse, the feeblest whisper. It made him wonder, vaguely, what had happened between the aftermath of the last showing and now. No matter how much he’d cried before, he’d never sounded like <i>this.</i> “I didn’t ask for-- I never wanted you to see…”</p><p>“Shh,” Otabek squeezed his hand. “It’s okay, Yura. I promise, this doesn’t change anything-- it’ll be okay.”</p><p>It only inspired more tears, as serene and forlorn as the first had been. “I’m sorry,” Yuri whispered.</p><p>“You have nothing to apologize for.”</p><p>Yuri shook his head slowly, pain hot and sharp in his chest. “I can’t do it, Beka, I can’t give up my baby. Not even for you.”</p><p>“I’d never ask you to,” His answer came so readily. “She’s your daughter, Yura, you’ll never have to give her up.”</p><p>And Yuri, weak, exhausted, beaten, could only process one part of that sentence. “Daughter?”</p><p>Otabek looked pained. “Yeah,” he smiled anyway. “It’s a girl.”</p><p>“A girl…” The final thread of his composure snapped, and Yuri only had time to let out one shaky sob before arms wrapped around him, and he was pulled into a broad, warm chest.</p><p>Later, over more tears, they would work out the fact that Otabek’s opinion hadn’t changed by the factor of the baby. </p><p>Later, they would make plans to go to America as soon as the doctor would clear Yuri, and have their first, <i>wonderful</i> kiss interrupted by tiny, impatient feet.</p><p>Later, once quiet, tearful laughter had died away and Yuri was positively glowing with tired joy, a nurse would chase Otabek out so he could get some more rest.</p><p>Now, though, Yuri melted in the arms of the man he loved, feeling <i>safe</i> for the first time in longer than he cared to remember.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Finally, something good! Aren't you guys happy? I bet I can say something that'll make you (hopefully) sad. </p><p>With this chapter, there will be two more until this story is complete. The next chapter will be the final one (chapter nineteen) and what will be marked as chapter twenty will be the epilogue. As it currently stands, I'm debating putting the few post-story, pre-epilogue shorts in with the epilogue, though I'll give them their own chapter (it would be chapter 21) if they get too long. </p><p>Thank you all so much for reading, and even more for your lovely comments. If you want to let me know what you think of this chapter or the news about those to come, I'd be thrilled if you let me know in the comment section below! ♥</p>
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<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Chapter 19</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter 18 recap: The fallout of the showing! Otabek shouts the matchmakers down and brings a doctor into the house, procuring for Yuri the care he needs. His condition is explained by the doctor, but, despite medical expectations, he doesn't wake up for several days. Otabek grapples with what a baby adds to things, but when Yuri wakes up, cries that he won't give up his daughter for Otabek, he's told that this doesn't change anything. They FINALLY kiss, and we end the chapter with them enveloped in each other's arms.</p>
<p>Welcome to the FINAL CHAPTER OF <i>THE DEPTH OF GREEN!</i> I legitimately can't tell whether I'm really glad the story is over, or in mourning because it's over??? Thank you to my commenters, to my silent readers, to my friends for dealing with my bitching, and every reader to come. Thank you for coming with me on this journey, and I hope I'll see you again in my upcoming works! More info in the endnote. ♥</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Otabek’s arm rested around Yuri’s waist, its placement there a careful, genuinely compassionate response to the hitch in Yuri’s breath, the ratcheting up of Yuri’s heartbeat, the shiver running down Yuri’s spine, that had occurred hardly a moment ago. Instinctually, Yuri sank into the touch, perhaps more than his conscious self would’ve allowed, but enough that the loose, warm weight at his hip was comforting, reminding him that, even though they walked through the halls of the house, he wasn’t a prisoner anymore. </p>
<p>He struggled to believe that.</p>
<p>The date for their return to America had been set since the second day of Yuri’s consciousness, when the doctor had supervised their interactions and clucked her tongue at Otabek for his refusal to leave Yuri’s side for any more than twenty minutes at a time. Yuri had appreciated it; the recovery after a heat like the one he’d had was hard, and as no one had been quite sure how strong Yuri was, it was reassuring to have someone he trusted close by. Enough so that it calmed (temporarily, anyway) the nervous flutters of <i>what now,</i> the anxious, intrusive thoughts that <i>the matchmakers must be furious, </i>and had kept Yuri focused on the present. </p>
<p>And after the emotional chaos, the despair that the baby had changed everything and the lingering fears of a 180 degree change in attitude from Otabek, the small reassurance that was his closeness had been invaluable. Plus, as they were in a building full of those Yuri didn’t doubt wished him nothing but ill, having someone by his side made everything slightly less nerve-wracking.</p>
<p>Well, Yuri considered as he stepped into the main hall and had his ears assaulted by a screech, perhaps not <i>everyone</i> wished him harm.</p>
<p>Mila flew out the door of the first rank’s dormitories, skidding to a careful halt before Yuri, just enough so that she avoided a collision, and lost no time in throwing herself upon him.</p>
<p>“Baba,” was all Yuri could gasp, shocked, “the guards!” The matchmakers had been careful to sequester all of the omegas away to the remotest chambers of the house upon Yuri’s departure; he’d been told, in hurried whispers by Minami before he’d had to go, that guards had been assigned to keep them locked in their dormitories until Yuri was long gone. Probably didn’t want him to be an example to them, a case of “when everything goes wrong, you can still prevail,” or whatever it was that they feared. </p>
<p>“They can’t do anything,” Mila’s eyes were bright, almost wild, as she pulled back, “I’m out of here next week.” Yuri begged to differ -- there was a<i> lot</i> they could do to punish her in the space of a week -- and was about to voice his concerns when she brushed them off, her face telling him firmly that there was no stopping her. </p>
<p>As if there ever had been. </p>
<p>“And besides, there’s no way in hell I’m going to let you go without saying goodbye.” And, exultant as her voice was, she couldn’t hide the hint of sadness in her eyes when she said it.</p>
<p>Yuri made no effort to stop the tears already blurring his vision; he pulled her back in for a hug. “Visit, okay?” Mila nodded, laughing though her eyes swam, “Call me the second you get to Italy.”</p>
<p>Otabek had already produced the sheet of paper that listed all of his (and now <i>Yuri’s) </i>contact information from his position standing a respectful few feet away, and Mila took it, nodding enough that her curls bounced. “I will,” she promised.</p>
<p>“Take care of Minami-- tell him goodbye for me.” </p>
<p>“I will.” She swiped a thumb at the tears on his cheek.</p>
<p>“Let me know if Sara mistreats you, okay? If she hurts you, I’ll fly to Naples and kick her ass from there to Canada.”</p>
<p>Mila laughed wetly, nodding again, “You take care of that baby, okay? I want pictures the second you have them.”</p>
<p>“I will,” Yuri smiled, a bit bashfully, a bit sadly, and placed a hand on his abdomen. A guard appeared in his peripheral and his pulse quickened. “Be safe, okay? Promise me you’ll take care of yourself.” Mila nodded, the tears in her eyes falling, “T--”</p>
<p>“Yuri,” she interrupted, before giving a watery smile, snaking her hand down to squeeze his. “I’ll see you soon.”</p>
<p>And then she was gone, her hand leaving his cold, her person whisked away into the dormitory with a guard flanking her either side. The door, always kept open during the day, shut.</p>
<p>Yuri stood, staring at the place his friend had vanished, in a state of immobile, whirling distress; slowly, a warm hand clasped his cold, empty one.</p>
<p>“You’ll see her soon.” A reassuring squeeze.</p>
<p>Yuri nodded, fighting to keep the tears at bay.</p>
<p>Yuri cried, silently, staring out the sunlit car window, the entire way to the airport, and Otabek’s grip on his palm never slackened.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>The airport was unremarkable: busy, bustling, crowded enough that, should an infectious disease break out, each and every occupant would contract it in ten seconds flat. Altogether, it was like every airport Yuri had ever visited, and he had no idea what to focus on first: the suffocating grief at leaving Mila and Minami behind, the overwhelming state of<i> almost-liberation</i> he hung, paralyzed, in, or the thick fog of scent pervading the air around him. Yuri swallowed shallowly, doing his best to tamp down on the nausea threatening him, making his head swim. </p>
<p>Although blockers were mandatory in public institutions such as airports <i>(especially </i>airports, with travel regulations and all), people weren’t required to sanitize their clothing and possessions upon entrance, so their scents, while weaker than they naturally were, were far from stifled. And to Yuri, fresh off an extra-strength heat, his senses heightened further due to his pregnancy, found himself struggling to breathe properly in the midst of this chaos.</p>
<p>It was a testament to how overwhelmed he was that Otabek glanced over at him, doubtlessly having noticed the grip on his hand growing tighter as Yuri tried not to suffocate under the cloying, sickening mist of intermingled perfumes. </p>
<p>“Yura?” Otabek asked, eyebrows drawing together, “Are you alright?”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” but Yuri’s breathing was shallow and it reflected in his voice, for, far from relaxing, Otabek’s face pinched even further.</p>
<p>And then he let out a small puff of air, tension dissolving from his features. A small part of Yuri uncoiled at the release, too. “Oh, is it the scents?” How he’d gotten that so quickly, Yuri had no idea, but he had no time to contemplate the issue, Otabek moving at his side. He crouched in front of Yuri, pulling the suitcase he carried partially open and extracting a swath of fabric from its depths. “Hold on,” he said, zipping the bag again and standing. “Do you think wearing this would help? Normally I’d suggest something of your own, but until you have a bigger store of clothing to draw from, I think this may be the best option.” </p>
<p>He was referring, of course, to the fact that Yuri possessed nothing except the clothes on his back, which Otabek had given him shortly before they left the house. He had gone to a maternity store, Yuri was sure, since there was no way the house would have (or would <i>give</i> to Yuri) leggings with a stretch waist and a maternity sweater. He must have guessed at the sizing, too; the clothing, the sweater more so, practically hung off Yuri; though, even under the baggy garments, his stomach was clearly visible and prominent.</p>
<p>It made Yuri feel exposed, to be in public, surrounded by so many who could just<i> look</i> at him and see that he was pregnant. He’d spent the entirety of his time in the house doing everything he could to cover the fact; he hunched his shoulders, sucked in (as useless as that was), and refrained from committing any gesture typical of a pregnant individual-- it felt crazy that he was suddenly just… <i>allowed</i> to act normally again. </p>
<p>Frankly, he didn’t know what normal <i>was</i> for someone in his condition.</p>
<p>But Otabek hadn’t seemed to mind at all, strangely<i> (constantly,</i> for Otabek) considerate about touching Yuri sparingly around the waist, and not commenting on, staring at, or referring to in excess his stomach, <i>at all.</i> And now, he stood normally, holding out a thick, woollen scarf, handknitted from the looks of it, acting as though it were no big deal that Yuri should need it.</p>
<p>The article was positively saturated in Otabek’s scent, and Yuri couldn’t have stopped the deep, automatic inhale he took as he caught a whiff of <i>Beka,</i> combatting the suffocating stench of pheromones that clouded in the air, if he’d been present enough to try. Quietly, Yuri couldn’t help but be grateful; as much as he may (and would) berate himself for this weakness, Otabek’s scent was a comfort to him in more ways than the man knew. </p>
<p>Hesitantly, then more firmly, <i>because this was <b>Otabek, </b></i>Yuri reached out and took the scarf, carefully twining it around his own neck, almost up to his mouth. The pheromones collected in the (rather scratchy) material cleared his head, and he took a second before offering a small nod to Otabek, who watched him anxiously.</p>
<p>“Thank you, it helps.” Yuri gave a small smile. </p>
<p>“I’m glad,” Otabek looked relieved, “let me know if the scents get overwhelming again, okay? I don’t want you to have to deal with any more than you have to before we can get out of here.”</p>
<p>Yuri nodded again, accepted Otabek’s hand as he was led through the throngs of travelers, holding his breath surreptitiously as he went. The scarf helped a lot, but his nose was still too sensitive to handle this number of people well.</p>
<p>They checked Otabek’s bag and printed their tickets from one of the little kiosks placed strategically around the lobby before setting off for customs and security. There was a full three hours before their flight was set to depart, Yuri knew, but, in spite of all the knowing in the world, he just wanted to be on that plane. He wanted to be out of the country, over international waters, landing in America where he couldn’t be dragged, ruthlessly and by the hair, back to the matchmakers. </p>
<p>Back to <i>him.</i></p>
<p>Evidently, Otabek detected this anxiety, and he positioned himself a little closer to Yuri’s side, asking softly if it was okay to put his arm around him. Yuri confirmed, and the arm looped at his waist helped a bit, but was less of a comfort than he thought it would’ve been under different circumstances.</p>
<p>When they went through the metal detectors, Yuri flinched when one of the guards stopped him, though it was only to take him aside so he could go through a machine which would give off less radiation. When they sent Otabek’s carry-on through the little x-ray belt, Yuri couldn’t breathe properly until they got it back on the other side, convinced the customs officers would find something in it that would cause them to be detained for questioning and miss their flight. When they got to the first of the infamously long airport lines, Yuri’s heart didn’t slow down until they’d made it through, positive that when they had to show their passports, he would be carted away again, refused leave from the country and ripped from Otabek’s side, crying and bloody.</p>
<p>“Hey,” Otabek murmured, with a soft touch to his side. Yuri jumped, and then tensed, eyes shut and downcast as he forced his heart to slow, braced for the blow to land.</p>
<p>
  <i>It’s Otabek. It’s Otabek. Stop this, it’s Otabek--</i>
</p>
<p>“Are you okay?” The complete and utter gentleness of the tone helped. Yuri swallowed, nodding slowly, and looked up into warm, concerned brown eyes.</p>
<p>“Sorry,” Yuri muttered, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear, “I just…”</p>
<p>Otabek nodded, “I understand.” Yuri wasn’t sure how he could, but he was grateful all over again for the general guilelessness with which Otabek conducted himself. For the general <i>Otabekness</i> of the alpha.</p>
<p>Carefully, the hand previously at Yuri’s side intertwined itself with his fingers. “How are you?” Otabek asked softly, “it’s been a long day. Are you tired? We can find something to eat when we get through here-- you can have a chance to get off your feet.”</p>
<p>And then there was this, this complete nonchalance Otabek embodied when alluding Yuri’s pregnancy, to the baby. </p>
<p>Yes, his feet did hurt, if that was what Otabek had been referring to, (they’d done a lot of walking and standing today, and he was still weak from the heat), but he hadn’t had any intention of letting on that they did. So Otabek asking, <i>anticipating,</i> was decidedly… Yuri didn’t know whether it made him love Otabek more, or made him slightly more nervous because Otabek could see through him that easily.</p>
<p>Yuri nodded, “That sounds good.”</p>
<p>Otabek offered Yuri a tiny, sweet smile. Despite himself, it made Yuri’s heart flutter. </p>
<p>Without the house, everything was different. Outside of the showings, the iron separation between them removed, their dynamic had shifted, and as much as Yuri was overjoyed that he was able to be with Otabek properly, he couldn’t help but feel nervous. Vulnerable. The last time he’d been so close to an alpha, bad things had happened, and the lifetime before that, he had had no more autonomy than a doll, while worse things happened. He didn’t know how to be<i> himself </i>anymore, void of the mask, the perfect role he’d play from behind the safe, enclosed walls of his iron cage. He didn’t know how to love Otabek, how to <i>trust</i> Otabek, if not from afar, when he could reach out and simply <i>hold him</i> if he wanted to.</p>
<p>But he still wanted to be with him, whichever new way he had to learn how to, and he moved a half-step closer to Otabek’s side when the line surged forward. Hearing what Yuri hadn’t said, Otabek replaced the light hand on his hip. </p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Maybe Yuri shouldn’t have been surprised that when they finished with their final line, the food Otabek searched out was found in a small, cozy, sit-down cafe no more than thirty feet from their gate. It amazed him, though, and scared him in no small part, that Otabek could read him so well. Here, Yuri got to rest his aching feet, keep the gate in full view so they <i>couldn’t</i> miss their flight, and, on top of that, eat <i>chocolate. </i></p>
<p>He hadn’t had chocolate in <i>years.</i></p>
<p>Yuri tried not to smile as he took another bite of the eclair in front of him, and set a hand on his abdomen when prompted by a kick to the liver. Otabek, next to him, glanced over, a twinkle in his eye. “Does she like that?”</p>
<p>Yuri was still in awe that his baby was a <i>she,</i> even after the doctor at the house had confirmed it three times for him <i>and</i> let him stare at the ultrasound machine for ten minutes, tears running down his face, before he left. The small shock of joy that ran up his spine as he was reminded of it largely negated his automatic, petrified response whenever the baby was mentioned, and, after a second’s frozen tension, he nodded. Swallowing and, with great effort, suppressing his instinctive reaction to try to hide himself from view, Yuri ran his hand delicately over the curve of his stomach.</p>
<p>Otabek smiled, “I guess we’ll have to get some more, then.”</p>
<p>***<br/>
Their seats were in first class. Yuri hadn’t flown first class in his <i>life: </i>never before when he’d traversed Europe to dance, and <i>never</i> when he’d been taken on planes by <i>him.</i> Still, though, he got the distinctive impression that it was supposed to be more luxurious than it felt.</p>
<p>It probably had something to do with him being eight and a half months pregnant (the doctor had confirmed the time frame), and with the fact that he was tense enough to substitute for a bow string. It wasn’t as though it made much difference to him, though; he doubted he’d be able to relax at all, let alone sleep, during the duration of the flight, so comfort was largely irrelevant. </p>
<p>Exactly <i>why</i> he was so wired, eyes darting around with every movement in his immediate vicinity, he couldn’t rightly say, but gathered, distractedly, that it might have just been a Pavlovian reaction after the amount of times he’d flown with <i>him.</i> And while he was appropriately certain that his experience with Otabek wouldn’t have any overlap, this kind of fear was hard to will away. </p>
<p>A plastic bag crinkled a few rows up when a woman took out her inflight pillow. A suitcase clunked against the inside of the overhead compartment as they lifted off. When the plane was stable and airborne, a flight attendant began to make her way down the aisle with a cart. Yuri’s knuckles were white where his hands were locked together, resting in his lap. This was silly: they were in the air, soon to be in international airspace; <i>nothing</i> was going to happen. </p>
<p>Still.</p>
<p>Yuri flinched minutely when Otabek turned toward him, far from unaware of the concerned side-glances he’d been the recipient of for the last half hour, and yet startled by the simple motion of the movement of a head.</p>
<p>
  <i>Get it together.</i>
</p>
<p>“How are you?” Otabek asked, and Yuri knew he was just trying to figure out what to say. “Have you ever flown before?”</p>
<p>Yuri nodded.</p>
<p>“Have your ears popped? Mine are always really painful before they do, and it takes them longer than most peoples’.”</p>
<p>Yuri nodded.</p>
<p>Glancing down, Otabek huffed a small laugh. “What does she think of flying? She seems pretty active.”</p>
<p>Yuri followed his gaze, set his linked hands against the base of his abdomen, the cloth of his shirt shifting subtly with the kicks of the baby. He’d been all but ignoring her movements since they’d gotten on the plane; truth be told, he’d hardly noticed them. Untwining his fingers, Yuri let one palm move up and down the curve of his stomach, the motion vaguely calming. “She is,” Yuri let out a breath, “I think the altitude is strange to her.”</p>
<p>Otabek made a contemplative noise, “Probably. I wonder if ears can pop in the womb.”</p>
<p>“I doubt it,” but the strain was fading from Yuri’s voice. How was Otabek always so good at this?</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Otabek hummed, “she<i> is </i>surrounded by liquid. The air pressure probably wouldn’t do much to mess with that.”</p>
<p>Yuri nodded, and, as his body relaxed, suppressed a wince. The seat was just straight enough that it made his back hurt, and the limited legroom did little to help the aching in his feet-- he could practically <i>feel</i> his circulation decreasing as blood pooled in his legs, despite the compression stockings he wore.</p>
<p>At thirty-five weeks, Yuri had <i>just</i> made the cut for flying internationally, and the doctor from his heat had made it very clear that, while he was okay to travel, no chances would be taken. Along with a list of do’s and don'ts for the <i>very</i> long flight, Yuri had been instructed to get up and take short walks around the cabin every two hours or so, not to eat any cold food or to drink anything with ice, and to occupy the aisle seat. Everything he’d been given to remember had been dizzying, which hadn’t helped the fact that he was nervous enough as it was-- and according to the doctor, she might’ve had him wait to go back to America until after he’d had the baby, had it not been so important to get him out of the country as quickly as possible. </p>
<p>He’d had barely two weeks before he’d be barred from international flights when he’d woken up from his heat, and, crucial as it was that the baby not be born in Japan, where she’d be inexorably bound by her secondary gender, whichever it may be, as its citizen, the doctor had grudgingly consented to Yuri’s hasty departure after six days of post-heat recovery. </p>
<p>They were under strict instructions to get Yuri to an OBGYN the second they got to America (indeed, Yuri was positive that Otabek had made the appointment before they’d even left Japan) and had been forewarned that he’d likely be put on a strict diet to gain weight and health before the end of his pregnancy. So along with numerous instructions for the flight alone, Yuri had a prenatal appointment to look forward to. Which he supposed was good, but made him nervous all the same.</p>
<p>“Probably not, no,” Yuri agreed as he shifted incrementally, wondering if, if he sat further down in the chair, the achy tension in his back would decrease. He contemplated how long it would take him to get the little, complimentary pillow out of its plastic bag and how much attention the crinkling of said bag would draw; he’d like to see if the pillow would help ease the strain at the small of his back, but would prefer not to bother anyone, if it came down to a choice between the two.</p>
<p>“How are you doing?” Otabek asked immediately upon Yuri’s movement, small though it had been, impossibly perceptive as always. “This can’t be very comfortable for you.” His eyebrows creased slightly; the expression reminded Yuri of that his Dedushka had often worn when he’d ask <i>Yuratchka, are you eating enough?</i></p>
<p>The remembrance was bittersweet, and he hoped with fervor that he might be able to find out about its subject once they got to America. He wasn’t sure the information he’d find would be good -- if he’d find it at all, for that matter -- but he wanted to know.</p>
<p>“I’m alright,” Yuri said, moving a bit more openly now he’d been called out on it. He pressed the back of his hand to his mouth to stifle a yawn; it had been a long day.</p>
<p>“Why don’t you see if you can sleep?” Otabek suggested, glancing at his watch (the old man), “we’ve only been in the air for half an hour; there’s still some time before you’ll be forced to get up and walk around a bit,” Yuri, remembering the severity of the doctor, appreciated Otabek’s word choice. “I’ll wake you in time.”</p>
<p>While Otabek’s reassurance was appreciated, Yuri still couldn’t say he liked the idea: as much as he knew that the situation was changed, sleeping on a plane still felt like asking for trouble. And he’d never asked at all.</p>
<p>Yuri was tired, though, and, without a fence between them, saying no to Otabek was harder-- especially when he looked so benevolently hopeful.</p>
<p>“You could lean on me to spread out a little bit more,” Otabek suggested, “we can put the arm of the seat up, if you want.”</p>
<p>Yuri hesitated, on the brink of a denial;<i> I’m not sure I could sleep now, I don’t want to bother you, <i>and <i>but then I’d be<b> asleep,</b></i> ready on his lips; but, after a space of silence, he nodded. He didn’t have to <i>actually</i> sleep if he didn’t want to; he could always just lie there. And besides, some more space, plus an excuse to touch Otabek, reassuring as it was when he expected it, couldn’t go amiss.</i></i></p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>Yuri nodded, and Otabek beamed. He lost no time in raising the armrest, and angled himself so, if he were to lean against his shoulder, Yuri would be able to tuck his head under his chin. Right next to his scent gland. Yuri loved this man.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>Carefully, Yuri shifted, finding again that negotiating his abdomen in the cramped space of the airplane was challenging. His stomach, which, he found when he’d settled relatively comfortably against Otabek, pressed against the top of the alpha’s stomach. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>Yuri, consciously trying to relax, stilled at the contact, his breath caught in his throat. Otabek however, only asked, “Is it alright if I put my arm around you?”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>Yuri nodded, letting air out slowly through his nose, and felt a gentle palm rest against his side a moment later. Otabek’s knuckles just brushed against his belly. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>He didn’t move his hand.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Goodnight,” Otabek said softly, the gentle movement of his throat resonating through Yuri, too. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Goodnight,” Yuri replied, though he knew he didn’t quite mean it. He shut his eyes, and, within five minutes, was asleep.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>***</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>The Philadelphia International Airport looked like any other airport Yuri had been in. Perhaps not as nice as some, certainly better than others. Probably, objectively, it would be ranked in the top twenty percent of airports internationally, after the scarily luxurious ones Yuri imagined <i>must</i> exist in Scandinavia. To Yuri, though, it was the best in the world.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>After fourteen hours in the air, and two hours of a European layover, it was about 6:45 am (though, according to Yuri’s body clock, it was decidedly <i>not),</i> and the sun was rising over the city. Clearly visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows, orange and pink streaks painted the horizon, spilling soft, golden light across the arrivals bay and illuminating the drab, grey chairs, the weary travelers disembarking. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>Yuri wasn’t tired, though. Physically, yes, he was beyond exhausted; but mentally, he was frozen, suspended in time as he watched people flow past him, the sun rising outside the windows.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>Otabek’s hand in his as they stood, quite motionless in the middle of the arrivals hall, but he didn’t seem to be in any hurry to move. That was good, Yuri thought, because he wasn’t quite sure he could. Not when, softly, reverently, so only he could hear it, Otabek whispered, “You’re free, Yura.”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>Not when, as Yuri dissolved into tears in his arms, it was <i>true.</i></i>
  </i>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>AND THERE WE HAVE IT, FOLKS! THEY FINALLY GOT THEIR SHIT TOGETHER! </p>
<p>Can you tell I'm excited? XD</p>
<p>In regards to the upcoming works I mentioned, nothing is too solid, but I have several ideas for multichapter fics which will be released in the next few months, and MANY oneshots in progress. One multichapter fic is likely going to debut in August [hello, dear friend, you know what this is about ;)] and another <i>should</i> go up before May. The second is the long-awaited, even longer-requested sequel to my YOI Omegaverse week work, "Scathing," so I hope that's exciting for some of you! To receive updates on the progress of the aforementioned fics, of the oneshots that will go up as I write them, I recommend subscribing to me as an author. </p>
<p>Expect the epilogue next week (3/16/21), and I'll see everyone later! ♥</p>
<p>Kudos and comments set my little heart aflame! To trigger the inferno, feel free to leave some! (Hello, Promare reference!) ♥</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Epilogue: Part One</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter 19 recap: Yuri escapes the house! He says a teary goodbye to Mila, mentions not having been able to see Minami before he left, and successfully escapes the country. Otabek shows his proficiency at handling a traumatized and pregnant Yuri, and, in the end, Yuri is "free" when they land in America. </p><p>I LIED. *cries* So, the epilogue ended up being huge... like over 8K words... and with the timing as strange as it was (you'll see what I mean) it just made sense to split it into three parts. And, as I quickly realized I couldn't have it all finished by today, those three parts became three separate epilogues. &gt;xC</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>***<br/>
<i>Directly following Chapter 19</i><br/>
***</p><p>When they got home (and <i>home,</i> wasn’t that a weird thought?) Yuri was exhausted, worn thin from travel and emotion, desiring nothing more than to simply fall into bed and sleep for twelve hours straight. Something he probably wouldn’t get, given that it was fifteen minutes to eight am, and the entire world was only just starting to wake up. And Otabek, apparently, who wasn’t feeling the jet lag <i>at all.</i></p><p>Otabek, buzzing, even to Yuri’s tired eyes, with nervous energy, puttered around the apartment after closing the door behind them, leaving his suitcase next to it and hovering around Yuri, like a child in a new place. Honestly, Yuri wasn’t functioning highly enough to care, and couldn’t suppress the yawn that forced its way into the world, covering his mouth with the back of a hand to stifle it.</p><p>Otabek, mid-question, stopped in his sudden, concerned asking if Yuri was hungry, if he could make him anything?, and visibly slowed down. “Are you okay?” He asked, quietening as his anxious hyperactivity faded, “You must be exhausted. What can I do?”</p><p>Yuri, past the point at which he could’ve been more tactful, even more courteous, simply shook his head. “Sorry,” he murmured, “would it be okay if I just went to bed?”</p><p>Otabek nodded, giving him a small, understanding smile, “Yeah,” he said, “I’ll take you to your room.”</p><p>Yuri was too tired to work out his feelings about the fact that he even <i>had</i> a room.</p><p>He nodded, exhaustion weighting his limbs, and followed as Otabek led him down the hall, past a bedroom (Otabek’s apparently) and into a second. </p><p>“Here,” Otabek said, opening the door for him, “there are clean sheets on the bed -- I had a friend come over before we got back -- and I guessed at your size for pajamas in the dresser,” he crossed to the sturdy, wooden chest of drawers as he said it, withdrawing a bundle of neatly folded cotton from within. “They’ll probably be a bit big on you,” he gestured to what Yuri currently wore, loose and baggy as it was, “but they’re something. We can get you better clothes tomorrow, but this should work for now.”</p><p>Yuri nodded, accepting the garments handed to him and marveling, internally, at how <i>soft</i> they were. </p><p>“Um,” Otabek moved to the door, glancing around the room, as if searching for something he’d forgotten, “do you need anything?”</p><p>“No,” Yuri shook his head, fondness overwhelming him at the slightly lost, desperate-to-please, look Otabek wore. “Thank you.” He added, quietly. He gave him a small smile.</p><p>Otabek took a breath, nodded, and smiled back. “Goodnight.”</p><p>“Goodnight.” The door clicked shut, and, just like that he was alone.</p><p>Yuri changed, folded his clothing and set it on top of the dresser, and took to bed. It was so <i>soft.</i></p><p>He was out before his head hit the pillow.</p><p>***</p><p>Yuri woke the next morning, in degrees, feeling soft and safe-- yet so crushingly tired he wasn’t sure <i>why </i>he was awake to begin with. He was just settling back into the covers, no conscious thought yet gracing the empty expanse of his mind, when he registered the faint smell of something cooking from outside the door.</p><p>That, in and of itself, was enough to have his eyes open, his brain misfiring frantically as he tried to figure out where he was, <i>why </i>he was, and <i>how</i> he could smell food when, at the house, he was the one who made it.</p><p>Undecorated, off-white walls, plain, oak furniture, a room shrouded in the distinct <i>lack</i> of scent. <i>Oh,</i> his heart calmed incrementally, <i>he wasn’t in the house anymore.</i></p><p>Slowly, pushing the blankets off himself, Yuri swung his legs to the floor, paying more attention than he had the night before to the soft, just vaguely plush carpet at his feet, and the grey and black patterned pajamas he wore. Something swelled in him when he realized they weren’t white.</p><p>A little disoriented, Yuri surveyed the room once more. Was he supposed to leave? Food was cooking; that was his job, so surely he was expected to take over, right? He’d overslept.</p><p>Pulling on the clothes from yesterday, pajamas folded and neatly replaced on the top of the dresser, Yuri glanced around for a brush, or something he could use to fix the mess that doubtlessly was his hair. Without one, he did his best to finger-comb unruly, blond locks back behind his ears in the mirror hanging over the dresser. Deep purple bags circled his eyes, and his skin was paler than he was sure it had been last he’d checked, but despite his visible exhaustion, he left the room.</p><p>Now he wasn’t dead on his feet, he had a moment to take stock of the hallway as he passed through it. Light grey walls, a smattering of art here and there, the bare minimum of decorating; it all seemed very <i>Otabek. </i></p><p>The kitchen, too, once it came into his view through the open floor plan, was less than exciting, though Yuri was surprised by the pop of color that was the vibrantly yellow fridge. He liked that.</p><p>Standing at the stove, Otabek turned, and Yuri, rigidly still on being noticed, relaxed marginally at the smile sent his way. “Good morning. If you want to sit down, this’ll be ready in a second.” Otabek tilted the pan he held over the burner to show a blini cooking in the center.</p><p>“I can--” Yuri began, already hurrying to relieve Otabek of the task of cooking, but he just shook his head, still smiling.</p><p>“I’m almost done. You must be tired; sit down.” </p><p>Reluctantly, Yuri did so. He pulled out a chair on the far side of the small, round table in the center of the kitchen, and eased himself into it, pushing a stray lock of blond hair behind his ear as he went. It was odd to have it down like this, he thought: vaguely unsettling to have tendrils swishing around his face, strange to feel it pull when he tilted his head, blond strands caught between his back and the chair. </p><p>Unsure of what to do with his hands (because elbows on the table were<i> rude)</i> and looking for a way to keep himself from staring, lost, at Otabek’s back -- something the alpha was sure to find irritating -- Yuri set a hand on his abdomen, as was quickly becoming his custom. It jutted out so prominently that his chair had to be pushed out from the table, too big to fit comfortably under it, and Yuri alternated between keeping his hands locked together at the top of his stomach, and running one over it.</p><p>The baby, waking up at the smell of food (could she actually<i> smell</i> the food?) and the gentle stimulation, thumped a few times at his insides. Yuri pressed a palm over the spot to soothe the motion. </p><p>He only glanced up when a plate was placed in front of him on the table, and a look at its contents prompted a nervous twist in his stomach additional to that inspired by having failed to make breakfast.<br/>
Evidently, Otabek had been up both longer and more productively than Yuri had first thought; along with the blini he’d been denied making, Yuri saw that he had been given a wide array of options, ranging from eggs, to rice, to porridge, to open-faced sandwiches. </p><p>“I wasn’t sure what you liked,” Otabek offered, by way of explanation. “So I just made everything. I think the porridge is something you eat in Russia, too? It’s pretty common in Kazakhstan, and something I really liked as a kid, so I thought…” he shrugged. “It’s okay if you can’t eat all of it; I just wanted to give you options.”</p><p>Yuri nodded, swallowed, and noted that the portions on his plate were significantly larger than those on Otabek’s. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure he <i>could </i>eat all of it, but Otabek had gone to the trouble of preparing it, so he had to try. </p><p>He carefully made his way through the eggs and the blini, trying hard not to remember that this, with the addition of piroshki, had been something he’d eaten often with his grandfather, and nibbled on the rice. The sandwich, too, he could manage without feeling too full, but the porridge…</p><p>Semolina porridge <i>was </i>very common in Russia, Otabek had been right, but, despite having eaten it thousands of times in his life, Yuri felt nauseous looking at it. It was what they’d been given to eat every day in his first matchmaking house, and the sight, the <i>scent,</i> of it, faint as it was, brought back memories of screams, fear,<i> no--, </i>and, later, <i>him.</i></p><p>Otabek had loved it as a child, though, and had made it specifically because he knew it was Russian, and therefore that Yuri would probably be comfortable eating it. And he glanced up, periodically, plainly trying to be inconspicuous as he eyed Yuri’s plate, doubtlessly following the doctor’s orders and ensuring he ate more. </p><p>He looked so <i>hopeful.</i></p><p>And, well, Yuri wasn’t hungry anymore, but he could do this for Otabek. </p><p>The spoon scraped the bottom of the small bowl the porridge was served in, and Yuri directed his thoughts to other things as he raised it, now full, to his mouth. The baby, kicking furiously at what felt like his spleen, the effort Otabek had doubtlessly gone to to prepare this and how sweet it was, the possibility of finding his grandfather alive and well--</p><p>The effect was instantaneous; the second the flavor hit his tongue, there was bile and barely-digested breakfast rising up his throat. Yuri pushed back from the table, moving a hand to his mouth, and flew back down the hallway, pushing doors open at random in his attempt to find the bathroom. Instead, he caught a glimpse of a bedroom of some sort, but, when another try yielded more successful results, he was retching into the toilet bowl, tile flooring cutting into his knees and hands clutching the ceramic basin for dear life.</p><p>Footsteps behind him, audible faltering, and then the sound of the sink running. Gentle, cool hands lifted Yuri’s hair from the back of his neck, gathering it into a sort of ponytail as Otabek rubbed soothingly between Yuri’s shoulder blades.</p><p>When it had passed, and Yuri’s stomach was thoroughly empty once more, a glass was pressed into his hands; he took a sip of water before spitting it back into the toilet bowl. He shut his eyes, already feeling the effects of what he knew would happen next, and muttered, head hung, “I’m sorry.”</p><p>“It’s not your fault,” Otabek said immediately, stroking his hair back from where it had fallen to obscure his face. “I-- I’ll remember next time that that makes you sick. I’m so sorry I gave it to you.”</p><p>Yuri shook his head, somewhere between denying Otabek’s fault in this and confirming his own guilt, but was simply dumbfounded. Throwing up had always been followed by punishment, before.</p><p>“Is there anything I can do?” Otabek asked softly, his tone guilty, “I was going to suggest going out to get you some more clothes today -- tomorrow, I guess --, but I think it might be better to stay in and rest, now.”</p><p>Yuri’s newly-empty stomach twisted painfully, “I don’t mind.” But it appeared the sight of Yuri, pale-faced and still hunched over a toilet, was enough to negate the effect of his words on Otabek.</p><p>“Maybe in a few days?” He suggested instead, taking Yuri’s hand to help him up, “I’m still pretty jet-lagged and I’m sure you are, too. We can just relax for a while, get settled in. Sound good?”</p><p>Yuri nodded, leaning into Otabek’s side as they left the bathroom. Seeing the door he’d opened in his haste to find it, though, he reached to pull it shut on his way down the hall.</p><p>Otabek stopped him, catching his wrist gently and pushing the door open further. “Actually,” he said, “I wanted to show you this. It used to be an office, but I can work from wherever and this was important, so I thought…”</p><p>They stepped inside, and Yuri’s breath caught in his throat. There wasn’t much decoration -- much of anything, really: even the walls were white -- but a simple, oak crib and changing table, the latter outfitted with a light pink cushion, were enough.</p><p>“I didn’t want to decorate before you had a say in it,” Otabek explained, “but these were a friend of mine’s, and he wanted to pass them on-- if you want to take them, that is. We can always buy new things, but a crib and changing table seemed so basic I thought--” he broke off when Yuri turned to him, eyes wide and shining.</p><p>Otabek faltered, looking unsure, but Yuri simply shook his head, wrapping his arms around his neck and hugging him. Hands wove into his hair, and stroked it softly as he cried.</p><p>***</p><p>The doctor’s appointment was set for a week after they got to America, and by then, Yuri had been outfitted, much to his overwhelmed, anxious confusion, with a full set of clothes, complete with a few summery shirts “in case you get too hot.”</p><p>Despite Yuri’s feeble bleating that he didn’t need all of this, <i>really, there’s only a month or so left-- this many maternity clothes are a waste of your money, and I’ll need new things after she’s born anyway--</i> there had been no dissuading Otabek, who had gently, yet persistently, supplied Yuri with everything he could possibly need. So now his wardrobe and dresser were full, several pairs of shoes at home next to Otabek’s on the shelf by the door, and a maternity pillow was lying on Yuri’s bed on top of a new, blue, artfully-bespeckled comforter he’d been asked to pick out to “make this place more of a home.” (Yuri could, despite his frazzled disorientation, find some humor in the fact that Otabek was well aware of how much of a bachelor pad the apartment was, and was pleading with Yuri to bring some life and color into it. He could not, however, fulfill this boon while enjoying any manner of certainty, or kind emotion whatsoever beyond anxious, faintly hand-wringing “what if he hates it?”.)</p><p>The comforter, though, brought a few other worries to light. Yuri was still less than certain about how he felt not to be sharing a room and a bed with Otabek, but he did appreciate the man’s absolute refusal to force him into anything. Did he sometimes yearn to crawl under Otabek’s covers, to build his nest on <i>his</i> bed instead of his own? Yes. But he also flinched when he was touched unexpectedly, and, far too often for his taste (though Otabek’s support was  steadfast and unflinching) lose himself entirely and convince himself, momentarily, that Otabek was not Otabek, and Yuri was not going to escape a mess-up without thorough retribution. So, they’d agreed, the more physical aspect of their relationship would come in time; the small, careful touches, and smaller, more careful kisses they exchanged now were more than enough.</p><p>It made Yuri worry, though, despite everything, whether Otabek may not feel differently about him now that he knew the whole story. Now that he saw Yuri constantly, working from home as he was <i>(it’s really no big deal, Yura. I never did anything besides type on a computer there, either; the location hardly matters),</i> painfully exposed to the ugly sides of pregnancy, made uglier by the fact that it wasn’t <i>his</i> baby Yuri carried.</p><p>Maybe it was true that the United States was more tolerant, less rigidly formal, than either Russia or Japan had been, but the shame of having a partner (if that was even what Yuri was?) carry another alpha’s child had to span across cultures. And even if everything in Otabek’s behavior had suggested otherwise, how did Yuri know that he <i>wasn’t</i> secretly ashamed to be with Yuri? That, even if he wasn’t now, he wouldn’t become so when the baby was born, and would be so much trouble?</p><p>It scared Yuri, the thought of what laid ahead, but Otabek’s steady presence at his side, even though they sat in the waiting room of the OBGYN, in full view of judgemental eyes, did admittedly lessen his anxiety. If only for the time being.</p><p>Yuri ran his hands over his abdomen, soothing both himself and the baby, and swallowed tightly when a nurse left one of the examination rooms and called his name. Otabek helped him up, as was becoming custom, and Yuri tried to calm his heart rate as they followed the nurse down the hallway, into a room. His braid brushed against his arm where it trailed over his shoulder, and he tensed, relaxing after a moment, still unaccustomed to wearing his hair down. He liked the way it looked, liked the freedom of releasing it from the confines of a previously omnipresent updo, but the way it brushed against his skin at the most unexpected of times was still alien and, occasionally, startling to him.</p><p>“Good morning, Mr. Plisetsky, Mr. Altin,” the nurse said, smiling. She was a tiny thing, in her late forties with greying red hair coiffed into a curly bob around her ears, and had crows feet that wrinkled when she gave them a warm, maternal smile. “I understand that today is your first appointment with this practice, yes?”</p><p>Otabek nodded. Yuri followed, belatedly. His thumb ran gentle circles over his stomach, where the baby was quite calm, only shifting occasionally. </p><p>The nurse jotted something down on her chart and gestured to Yuri. “If you wouldn’t mind taking off your shoes, I’ll have you step onto that scale there, and then I’ll take your weight to get started.”</p><p>Yuri’s stomach rolled; he’d been worried about this, too. He knew he was underweight, knew Otabek had consulted the doctor Yuri saw in Japan about what to feed him during the week before he could ask this, new doctor, but wasn’t in any hurry to be scolded for failing to take care of himself. Wasn’t in any further of a hurry to leave Otabek’s side, or to be poked and prodded, despite the fact that he would, for the baby.</p><p>He nodded tightly, and bit his lip when, as he started to bend to take off his shoes, Otabek gently shook his head and did it himself. Yuri rubbed his stomach again, and the baby gave a lazy kick.</p><p>Yuri tried not to look at the scale as he stepped on, tried harder not to look at the identical creases in Otabek and the nurse’s eyebrows when he stepped off, and allowed Otabek to help him back into his shoes with his eyes and hand on his abdomen.</p><p>Blood tests went by, his blood pressure was taken, Yuri managed to climb onto the examination table, and noticed the calculating, searching look the nurse gave him all the while. Finally, he was asked to roll up his shirt, and only flinched a little bit as the gel was squeezed onto his stomach.</p><p>“Sorry,” the nurse said with a sympathetic smile, “it’s very cold.” </p><p>Yuri nodded, tensed as the wand was pressed into his abdomen, and directed his gaze toward the screen. </p><p>The world stopped, as Yuri was quickly learning it always did, when he heard his baby’s heartbeat, and soared back into existence when he saw her fuzzy, grey outlines on the screen. She shifted slightly, aimed a swift but brutal kick at his bladder, hit her mark, and then stilled once more. Yuri thought, as he stared at her, enraptured, that he might not mind the color white so much, so long as her little form showed up in that hue against the black grain of the rest of the screen.</p><p>Something touched his arm and he jumped, ripping his gaze away and staring at the nurse, who smiled again, and held up the blood-pressure band. “There was an inconsistency in the last result,” she said simply, “we just need to do it again. Is that alright?”</p><p>Yuri nodded, swallowed, allowed her to put the cuff around his upper arm as he turned his gaze back to his baby. He smiled, just slightly, as he felt Otabek’s hand nudge into his.</p><p>The machine beeped and Otabek asked, perhaps more anxiously than Yuri could deem reasonable when the baby was on the screen before them, “Is it better now?”</p><p>“Much,” The nurse said, the smile ever-present on her lips growing again, and she removed the blood-pressure reader from Yuri’s arm. “Everything looks good,” she said, “I think the last result was just a fluke. This one is perfect.” Her eyes lingered on Yuri, where he remained faced toward the screen, entranced by the sight of his child, and her lips curled.</p><p>Yuri ignored the way his heart sank a little when the machine was turned off a moment later, and both the image of his daughter, and her heartbeat, disappeared. </p><p>“Do you have any questions before I let you go?” The nurse asked, and Yuri blinked. He hadn’t thought it would be over so soon.</p><p>Immediately, Otabek launched into several, specific yet concerned questions about Yuri’s dietary needs, and Yuri occupied himself with wiping the blue ultrasound goo off his stomach with the rag the nurse had given him.</p><p>“Yura,” Otabek said, once he’d finished and the rag had been thrown out, Yuri’s shirt once again in place, stretched over his abdomen. “Anything you want to add?”</p><p>Yuri sucked in a breath, stroked his abdomen softly through his shirt, and looked at the nurse. She smiled encouragingly. “I guess,” Yuri began, unsure, “I just want to know if she’s okay?” It sounded so, painfully juvenile after all of Otabek’s detailed, technical queries, but it was all he could think to say.</p><p>“She’s small,” the nurse said. Yuri’s heart sank. “But, with the right prenatal vitamins and the right diet, she’ll continue to be perfectly healthy.” The warmth in her voice was as palpable as the relief in Yuri’s face. </p><p>He nodded, and the baby kicked.</p><p>***</p><p>Initially, Yuri had suggested coming grocery shopping with Otabek out of the desire to be useful. After a little over two weeks in America with very little to do, and very little Otabek would <i>allow</i> him to do (merely because he wanted him to <i>relax),</i> he was beginning to wonder whether or not Otabek would eventually become irritated with his lack of helpfulness-- or he whether would lose his mind with so practically little to occupy it. In the seemingly likely event that both would occur, it was only a matter of which would happen first.</p><p>They’d gone out to purchase maternity clothing and peruse possible additions to the nursery, and then again to the obstetrician’s office, but beyond that, Yuri had the sinking feeling that he’d just about killed Otabek’s social life… Or his outside-of-the-apartment life.</p><p>Insistent that he could work from anywhere with a WiFi connection, Otabek had taken to conducting his job from the living room while Yuri occupied himself with the various books that had been presented none too subtly to him, the phone he’d been given sooner than he could wrap his head around, and menial household tasks he could accomplish before Otabek inevitably sprung up to save him the trouble. Yuri appreciated his willingness to spare Yuri from any sort of chore, but the complete lack of anything productive to do was jarring, especially when, for the majority of his life, he’d carried the burden of taking care of himself and, often, others, alone.</p><p>It was overwhelming, suddenly having this much freedom, this much time to fill with whatever he pleased and this many sources of entertainment to choose from. </p><p>The phone, naturally, he loved, even more so since Mila, now safe in the very-progressive land of Italy, was equally excited about her own. They texted on and off, exchanged worries and reassurances, and generally discussed their lives away from each other, strange in foreign countries as they were. Yuri sent ultrasound pictures, Mila narrated shenanigans she and Sara had gotten up to, Yuri was, eventually, convinced that the alpha was good for and to Mila, and Yuri got to quietly rave about Otabek’s… <i>everything,</i> to an equally enthused ear. </p><p>They tried, collectively, not to think about Minami.</p><p>He’d been, despite their most desperate attempts, left behind in Japan, prisoner of the house still. Otabek, angering the matchmakers as he had, had been refused the “purchase” of Minami, barely allowed to take Yuri off of the house’s hands for all the trouble he’d caused. Sara, too, in some mix of primary-sexism, house policy (no alpha could mate two omegas from the same house, for whatever arbitrary reason), and general dislike through association with Mila, had been denied even <i>seeing </i>Minami, and Mila had barely gotten a word to him before she’d been strong-armed off the premises.</p><p>While her quality of life had plummeted during her last few days’ occupation of the house, Mila had said, she’d been kept in the first rank to uphold appearances, even if the guards and matchmakers had made a special effort to exact every form of subtle revenge they could. </p><p>(Yuri hadn’t been able to breathe properly for forty minutes after receiving the vague text, and had only been calmed enough to explain when Otabek had found him and held him for some time after. (It was <i>his fault.)) </i></p><p>But Minami, according to Mila, had been persona non grata. She’d only seen him at mealtimes, when their interaction had been forbidden, and they’d barely managed a word together when they’d snuck out after a showing, found a scant few minutes later. Mila didn’t doubt that Minami had taken the brunt of the punishment, though hers had not been light, and she’d confided in Yuri that she regretted sneaking out tenfold; she and Minami had managed next to nothing before they’d been forcibly separated.</p><p>And they hadn’t heard from or of Minami since.</p><p>But Yuri had quickly found that if he allowed himself to dwell on the topic for too long, he’d become essentially useless for the rest of the day, non-communicative and a mess of emotions, so he made a conscious effort not to. At night, it was unavoidable, and indeed Yuri<i> refused</i> to simply<i> forget</i> about Minami, so his pillow, consequently, was well-used to bearing witness to his guilt and distress.</p><p>But, as of yet, Yuri hadn’t proven to Otabek that he was <i>completely</i> incapable, either because he was “fragile” or because he was emotionally unstable, and he was prepared to go to great lengths to keep it that way. Lengths that included tagging along on shopping trips.</p><p>As had been the general trend of things, Otabek had opted to get groceries delivered most of the time (his reasoning, Yuri suspected, lying in that he was afraid to leave Yuri alone for too long, and afraid to make him feel forced to leave the house), but had gone out for them one day when the weather had been particularly nice, asking, cautiously neutrally, if Yuri would like to come along.</p><p>And so Yuri went, walking the two blocks to the annual, fabled farmer’s market at Otabek’s side, hand slipped in his. The sun was warm on his back, and though he generally kept his gaze down, a habit he knew he’d need to break, he could appreciate the contradictory beauty of pristine, snow-covered lawns and the bright, golden sun shining cheerfully above.</p><p>The awnings of the stalls in the market were colorful, some with snow melting off them and some already clear of it, many with signage overhead displaying the wares they sold. People decked out in their January finest milled around, seemingly unbothered by the low temperature, and chatted warmly together, baskets and bags of whatever in their arms. </p><p>Children, several small girls wearing tutus just visible under their heavy coats and snow pants (overkill, Yuri thought, but understood the impulse that had led to it), danced in a clumsy formation inside the gazebo, a structure just big enough to fit seven of them all moving to what only vaguely resembled a beginner’s ballet routine. A man stood in front of them at the foot of the gazebo’s steps, apparently trying to conduct them, while another, black-haired and shorter than the first, merely laughed, apparently already resigned to the fact that the performance was a lost cause for technique-- an adorable one, though.</p><p>Slowly, Yuri followed Otabek from booth to booth, giving his slightly faltering, but gradually becoming firmer, opinion on things when asked, and being introduced to several stall attendants who apparently knew Otabek. He’d said the town was tiny, but Yuri hadn’t expected <i>this</i> level of familiarity from its residents.</p><p>Despite the crowds, though, and the lingering gazes he could feel on the back of his neck from those Otabek had spoken to, the sun was warm and the day was bright, and Yuri couldn’t help but enjoy the performance of the children in the gazebo. The girls had finished, rushing back into the arms of their mothers, likely to receive some kind of warm drink for their efforts, adorned in heavy coats, though they were, and a class of older boys stepped up. The man who continued to conduct them (he had silver hair, Yuri noticed once he’d removed his hat and made it visible) seemed more pleased with their performance, marginally cleaner as it was, and leaned in to kiss the raven-haired man when the music ended, prompting an immediate chorus of “ew”s from the boys.</p><p>Yuri smiled slightly, glancing at one child with dark hair and light eyes, who stood in the center and nearly tripped over his feet when he forgot a step in the next dance, and rubbed his stomach. He wondered if his daughter would share his love for ballet-- maybe they’d end up enrolling her in the dance school these children so clearly belonged to.</p><p>At a gentle hand on his arm, Yuri glanced away from the gazebo, and found Otabek watching him. “I have to grab something from a few aisles down, but I can meet you back here if you want?” he said, “The next number the kids will perform is pretty good-- they show their progress every Saturday and never fail to impress with this one. I can’t let you miss it.”</p><p>Yuri nodded, and, with only a slight twinge of anxiety, watched Otabek disappear through a maze of milling people and stalls. He clapped with everyone else when the boys’ number ended, though, and watched with mounting curiosity as a few of them left the stage, only for three of the little girls from earlier to take their places. He laughed out loud once the music started; “My Boyfriend’s Back,” a hit from years ago yet a timeless song, came on, and he couldn’t quite hold back his smile when he watched the tiny dancers begin to move.</p><p>Altogether, by the end of the dance, Yuri completely understood why Otabek had said he couldn’t miss it, and was feeling more relaxed than he thought he had since he’d left the apartment. Which, go figure, was when one of the shopkeepers from before approached him from the crowd. </p><p>Instinctively, Yuri glanced behind him for Otabek, but took a solid breath when he realized he had yet to return from his search for the missing item.</p><p>“Hey, it was Yuri, right?” The man was tall, <i>reeked of alpha,</i> and had jet black hair and blue eyes. He held out a hand. “Jean-Jacques Leroy, but you can call me JJ. We didn’t get to talk much earlier.”</p><p>Yuri nodded, though it seemed the man had already barrelled past the confirmation of his identity.</p><p>“You’re new in town, right? Beks was super vague when he said how you two met, but I figure he was just trying not to say that you two fucked on the first date.” </p><p>Despite his discomfort, Yuri very nearly blanched. </p><p>“I mean, that’s the only way you could be so far along, right?” Jean-Jacques asked, and Yuri had to wonder whether the man could do math? He tightened his arm over his stomach anyway. “I was the friend Beks asked to get the apartment ready-- do you like the crib and the changing table? They’re technically hand-me-downs from Celia, but they’re good as new!” </p><p>Yuri was growing to dislike this man more and more with every “Beks” he uttered, and was only grateful that, with one of Otabek’s scarves wrapped around his throat, he wasn’t too nauseated by his scent.<br/>
Yuri was opening his mouth to respond, compelled to do so so as not to be rude yet legitimately unsure if it was necessary, given how quickly the man spoke, when someone ran up. </p><p>A little girl, raven hair in two low pigtails, cheeks flushed from the cold and beaming, materialized out of the crowd, attaching herself to Jean-Jacques’ leg and holding on as she laughed. </p><p>“Celia!” Came a voice out of the throngs of people, and, moments later, a tall, beautiful, equally black-haired woman emerged, shaking her head exasperatedly at the two, Jean already swinging the little girl (Celia?) into his arms. She huffed a laugh and, glancing at him, extended a hand to Yuri. “Isabella Yang,” she smiled, “I take it you’ve met Jean and Cel?”</p><p>Yuri nodded, glancing as he did so to the little girl (she couldn’t have been more than three) in Jean-Jacques’ arms. “She’s very sweet,” he settled on, haltingly, and while he was still distinctly uncomfortable, adrift without Otabek by his side and ambushed by this family, the woman’s scent was soothing, lessening the grating effect of her husband’s. (Yuri figured husband; no one had confirmed, but they <i>seemed </i>married.)</p><p>Isabella opened her mouth to answer, but, suddenly, blessedly, <i>finally,</i> Yuri caught scent of green tea, ginger, and was sinking into Otabek’s side before he’d even fully melted out of the crowd.</p><p>Instantly, there was a hand on his hip, and Otabek pulled him a little closer. “I see you’ve found Jean,” he said, before nodding to Isabella. “It’s good to see you.”</p><p>“You too,” she smiled, “I was just getting to know your Yuri.” A bit of a stretch: Yuri had barely said two words, but whatever.</p><p>Otabek nodded as Jean called, his daughter giggling and now safely perched on his hip, “Beks! You have to come over soon. I’ll make my poutine and we can give you the insider scoop on parenting!”</p><p>Otabek’s lips pursed--  just barely, but Yuri noticed it and assumed it had something to do with the “Beks.” Part of him liked that, as it seemed, he was the only one who was allowed to call him by a pet name.</p><p>“Maybe,” Otabek agreed, before, glancing at Yuri, “I think we’d better go, though. I promised Yura we’d take a look at the bakery down the street, and it’s closing soon.” </p><p>He had done no such thing, but as Jean aimed a hasty “Bye!” at them and Otabek raised a single hand over his shoulder, Yuri was grateful for the lie.</p><p>“Sorry,” Otabek murmured once they had left the part of the bike trail roped off for the farmer’s market, returning to the normal, pedestrian path. “I know he can be a lot. You okay?”</p><p>Yuri nodded, and Otabek pressed a kiss to his temple.</p><p>“I think you would actually like that bakery, though,” he said, “the macarons--”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>JJ sells organic vegetables he, Isabella, and Celia grow in their backyard greenhouse. They started gardening because Jean wanted to "grow" his love for Isabella by growing her a heart-shaped radish for their first wedding anniversary. He failed spectacularly, but they just kept trying, and eventually became the gardening people down the road. Their stand at the farmer's market specializes in cabbage. Why? Because it makes me happy.</p><p>Comments and kudos make me happier, so please leave some if you want! ♥</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Epilogue: Part Two</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Epilogue: Part One recap: Yuri has a lot of anxiety. We meet Jean. Otabek is wonderful. That's it. xD</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <i>*** </i><br/>
<i>Eleven months later<br/>
***</i>
</p><p>Yuri oscillated on the pavement in front of the rental car, gloved hands twisting and already-chapped lips being gnawed upon. His hair flew in the wind around him, as he had long grown accustomed to its freedom entailing his occasional whipping in the face, and he leveled an anxious, slightly manic glance at Otabek.</p><p>“We don’t even know if he lives here anymore. He might not be home -- might not even be <i>alive --</i> and maybe he doesn’t want to be bothered? It’s possible he doesn’t want to see me; it’s been so long and--”</p><p>“Yura.” One hand took his, ceasing the nervous twisting.</p><p>Yuri sucked in a breath. He let it out. “I--” he swallowed. Nodded. “It’ll be okay.”</p><p>Otabek gave him a small, warm smile. Squeezed his hand.</p><p>And then there were boots crunching over long-frozen snow, stepping right over the patch of ice that <i>always</i> formed in winter, and marching up the dilapidated little brick steps. The doorbell rang, tinny and low as it always had been. And from the inside, came the rough resonance that signaled the wooden picture frame located just next to the doorbell speaker was still there. </p><p>Yuri breathed.</p><p>Otabek breathed.</p><p>The snow, seemingly, caught on the wind and swirling about in the wintery air, breathed.</p><p>Footsteps shuffling on the other side of the door, and how did lungs work?</p><p>The door, faded, wooden-paint long worn-off, still dented in one corner from when Yuri had tried to skateboard up the porch railing and <i>failed,</i> cracked open. And suddenly, too suddenly, suddenly enough that Yuri didn’t think he’d ever be able to breathe <i>again,</i> he was face to face with the grizzled, weather-beaten features of Nikolai Plisetsky.</p><p>They both simply stared for a moment, before, hoarse and wet and deep as his voice always had been, “Yuratchka…”</p><p>Yuri threw himself at him, temporarily heedless of his bad back, of Otabek standing just behind him in the cold and the sleet and the snow, and simply <i>held him.</i> It had been so long. So, so long. He’d never thought he’d see him again, and now here he was.</p><p>They wept in each other’s arms.</p><p>“Yura,” Nikolai’s old, wrinkled, arthritic hand cupped Yuri’s cheek, doubtlessly ice cold as it was, and wiped his tears. He touched him as though he were precious, some phantom or angel or apparition that would fade if he only handled him too roughly. </p><p>Yuri laughed hoarsely, the sound caught somewhere in his throat between the sobs and absolute euphoria threatening to overwhelm him. “Deda,” he murmured, and buried his face in his shoulder, though he had to stoop and slouch to make it work. “You’re still here--”</p><p>“Of course I’m still here,” the old man huffed, but tears slid unchecked into his beard, so Yuri wrote his irritation off as a farce. “I’m not yet old enough not to be able to fight off the tax collector.”</p><p>Yuri laughed again, and only released his grandfather when he heard a quiet, whimpery, thoroughly indignant squawk from behind him.</p><p>It was the only thing in the world that could’ve gotten him to turn around, and he did so instantly, gently extricating himself from his grandfather’s arms to hold them out to Otabek.</p><p>“She’s alright, just fussing,” Otabek said, though he handed her over all the same.</p><p>An audible gasp from behind them, and Nikolai stared at the bundle of blankets and baby-winter-coats in Yuri’s arms.</p><p>In moments, the three were over the threshold, Otabek carefully closing the door behind them, and Nikolai was staring at the child with pure, unadulterated <i>joy.</i> “Yuratchka,” he murmured, tearing his eyes away from tiny, watery green ones and meeting Yuri’s own. “You…”</p><p>Yuri nodded, smiled, choked on another sob, “Meet your great-granddaughter, Nadezhda Plisetskaya.”</p><p>“Oh, Yuratchka. <i>‘Hope.’”</i> Nikolai touched gentle fingers to the infant’s cheek, and she squirmed, protesting the chill of his skin. “She’s beautiful.”</p><p>Yuri smiled, “I know.”</p><p>***</p><p>“Tell me everything. Where have you been? <i>How</i> have you been? Were you safe? Happy? <i>Are</i> you safe? Happy?” The old man cast distrustful eyes to Otabek, sipping a cup of tea in the beaten-up old armchair next to the fire, from where he sat on the loveseat with Yuri, knees touching, and baby Nadeika gurgling in his lap. Nikolai had refused to put the baby down since he’d gotten to hold her, and now she sat up against his chest, looking wonderingly around at the unfamiliar space.</p><p>“I am. Safe, happy,” Yuri clarified, “How are <i>you? </i>Have you been managing alone? What about the bills on the house--”</p><p>“That’s hardly important,” Nikolai waved it away, stroking a veined hand over Nadezhda’s little, hat-wearing head. “You’ve clearly gone through so much, my Yuratchka. I want to hear about that.”</p><p>Yuri glanced down at the baby, hesitated. “Nadeika is ten months old,” he settled on, “her birthday is February seventh, and she was born an American citizen,” he could see the relief in Nikolai’s face, and squeezed the hand that clutched, much as it was clutched <i>in,</i> his. “I have citizenship, too, with Beka,” wary eyes moved over to Otabek, who only nodded politely, “and we live in New Jersey.” Yuri smiled, before huffing quietly, “And she <i>hates</i> peas. Little monster spat green goop all over my shirt the first time she tried them.”</p><p>Nikolai chortled. “You used to do that, too. All over your grandmother’s Sunday best-- she was so mad.”</p><p>Yuri snorted, nodding, “She got Beka the other day, too. He was all dressed up, ready to go to this conference, and suddenly he had bright orange baby puke all over his blazer.”</p><p>“I remember that,” Otabek nodded placidly, “it was a pretty impressive shot. I’m still not sure how she did it.”</p><p>Yuri sniggered. He quickly sobered, though, when he caught Nikolai’s expression. “Deda,” he murmured, frowning. </p><p>“We need more tea,” the old man announced, fixing Otabek with a challenging look.</p><p>Obediently, Otabek stood and picked up the mostly-full pot, retreating to the kitchen to brew some more. </p><p>Yuri sighed, “Deda--” he couldn’t blame him, he really couldn’t, but he still disliked how he addressed Beka. </p><p>“Tell me the truth, Yuratchka,” Nikolai urged in an undertone, grasping both Yuri’s hands in his. “Is he treating you well? Why hasn’t he let you visit? If you’ve been with him long enough to have a child then surely you could’ve--”</p><p>“I--” Yuri sighed, shaking his head. “It’s complicated. He treats me wonderfully, I promise, but I couldn’t come before now. I couldn’t travel before I had the baby and I was afraid to take her on a plane before a few weeks ago, and I couldn’t just <i>leave</i> her.”</p><p>“Why not?” Nikolai said at once, “Surely Otabek is equally capable of taking care of her?”</p><p>“Of course he is, I just--” Yuri sighed, dropping his head. </p><p>Nikolai let out a long breath. “Yura, what <i>happened?”</i></p><p>Yuri swallowed, blinking the sudden tears from his eyes. “It’s complicated,” he repeated, “I <i>will</i> tell you, I just--” he shook his head. “It’s been a lot. I barely met Beka a year ago and before that everything was just so…”</p><p>“A year?” Nikolai was clearly doing the math. “But if she’s ten months old…” </p><p>Yuri bit the inside of his cheek, ignored the tears threatening to fall, and looked at the spot on the carpet where he’d spilled black tea at age six. The stain had never come out. </p><p>“My Yura,” Nikolai whispered, and cupped his cheek. “I-- I’m so sorry. I had hoped that maybe… but you…” his eyes were ablaze with anguish, “I <i>never </i>should’ve let them take you.”</p><p>“You didn’t have a choice,” Yuri squeezed his hands gently. “There was nothing you could’ve done.”</p><p>“I <i>tried…”</i> His voice broke, and he clutched Yuri’s hands <i>so</i> tightly, desperate to hold on. “I’m so<i> sorry…”</i></p><p>Yuri moved closer, held his hands, and tried to find the words to comfort him.</p><p>***</p><p>The next day, Nikolai noticed the carefully crafted chopstick Yuri wore in his hair, the silhouette of a cat shining faintly in the soft, morning light. Yuri rarely wore the ornament anymore, determined as he was to keep his hair down, free and loose and lovingly tangled, but still took it with him everywhere out of habit-- a token of comfort, more than anything. </p><p>Just as it had been when it had been given to him. Just as it had been in the house. Just as it had been when Yuri discovered it with his things shortly after arriving in America. Just as it was now.</p><p>Nadeika had been pulling his hair, as she so loved to, and Yuri had twisted it out of harm’s way without a thought before he’d come down for breakfast. When Nikolai saw the chopstick, the tip of the cat’s ear peeking out from behind a bun of blond, Yuri was ashamed he’d ever forgotten just how important that hairpiece was.</p><p>He couldn’t dwell on it, though, because Deda was smiling so hard, despite his teary eyes, Yuri didn’t emerge from the hug pressed around him for several minutes.</p><p>***</p><p>It was hardly a week later when Nikolai Plisetsky woke up in the night. Of course, this was nothing abnormal for him: at his age, one got used to aches and pains resulting in a lack of sleep, insomnia, the need to use the bathroom more often, all manner of things he would never admit to experiencing. This was the first time, though, he’d woken up to screams.</p><p>Nikolai jerked awake, and, for a second, he thought it was another year, another world, when the war was on and gunfire and fear weren’t strange sounds to a soldier. But then sleep’s veil was gone from his eyes, and he remembered <i>where </i>he was, when he was, and that, <i>no,</i> that was <i>Yuri’s </i>voice.</p><p>He sprang from bed as quickly as he could move, thoughts of, <i>is it the omega house? Did they find him? Is it <b>him--</b></i> flying, frenzied, through his head. Out of the bedroom, down the corridor, drafty in the moonlight, and to the doorway of Yuratchka’s room. He was inside before his eyes had fully adjusted, and, in the darkness, he could just make out the shape of Yuri, sobbing, gasping, shaking, clutching another, shrouded in shadow. And then he made out Otabek, arms wrapped very carefully around Yuri, rubbing his back, whispering the gentlest of,</p><p>
  <i>“It’s okay, Yura, you’re okay. You’re safe. I’m here.” </i>
</p><p>This, above everything else, froze Nikolai in place. Surely, Otabek had noticed him come in, all but slamming the door open in his haste to find his grandson, but his gaze had never left Yuri’s face, focused and calm. </p><p><i>“Breathe, Yura,”</i> he murmured, and Nikolai would’ve had to be blind to miss the way Yuri clung to Otabek, how his hands curled, knuckles white even in the blackness of the room, into his shirt. With Otabek’s guidance, Yuri took a clearer, shaky breath, and buried his face in Otabek’s shoulder, his own two shaking as he cried.</p><p>And only then, once it was clear he could spare the smallest of moments to look up, Otabek met Nikolai’s eyes. He stared at him, and Nikolai got the uncomfortable feeling that he’d done this many times before. That, instead of Nikolai examining <i>him, </i>Otabek was gazing into <i>his</i> soul.</p><p>A cry went up from the old bassinet in the corner, and the moment broke.</p><p>Startled into movement, Nikolai hurried over to the baby, doubtlessly having been woken by Yuri’s nightmare, and took her into his arms. He rocked her gently, cooing soft, shushing noises at her, and directed his gaze again to the tiny twin bed his grandson and his mate had squeezed into, despite the fact there was a bed of blankets on the floor for Otabek. </p><p>Yuri had gone rigid when Nadeika had cried, but was now relaxed again, still clinging to Otabek and crying quietly, but far calmer than he had been before.</p><p>Slowly, he raised his head, blond hair in disarray, hanging around his face, and green eyes sparkling in the moonlight coming in from the hallway. He held out his arms, unlatching from Otabek just enough to do so, and Nikolai shuffled across the room, settling the crying infant in them. </p><p>Yuri held her to his chest, breathing heavily, and ducked his head so he could hold it against the top of Nadeika’s, doubtlessly inhaling the new baby smell Nikolai knew persisted months after birth.</p><p>Otabek carefully set a hand on Yuri’s arm, and, after a moment of renewed rigidity, Yuri sank into the touch. Nikolai faltered; he wanted to help. His grandson was clearly upset, and after all he’d gone through, all he’d shakily recounted that afternoon, with many breaks in the tale, Nikolai could only imagine which particular horror he’d just relived. </p><p>But Yuri had calmed down some, though tears still shone silver pathways down his cheeks, and he cradled his baby gently, pressed against his mate’s side. </p><p>Nikolai looked up, meeting Otabek’s eyes, and received a nod. “I’ve got him.” His voice was quiet, certain but soft in the shadowed room.</p><p>Nikolai hesitated, looking back to Yuri, who still had his face buried against his daughter’s head, curled into Otabek’s side. With another slow, appraising glance between them, at last, Nikolai nodded.</p><p>He shuffled out of the room, and closed the door behind him.</p><p>***</p><p>The events of the night had yielded an uneasy truce between Nikolai and Otabek. Yuri still caught the former glaring suspicious, wary daggers at the latter, but it was obvious to even the most casual of observers that something had changed. Shifted. Yuri hated that his grandfather had had to see him like that, hated more that he’d had an episode so soon (it had been over <i>three weeks</i> since his last), but could be grateful that, at least, something positive had come out of the experience.</p><p>He could see it in the way Nikolai followed his movements, watched his interactions with Otabek, easy as they were, and didn’t look at Yuri as though it was all a carefully-orchestrated ruse. In the way, when Nadeika cried, Nikolai allowed Otabek to take her from the room to comfort her, and was able to focus on ensuing the conversation as Yuri made it. In the way, when Otabek hugged Yuri, still so carefully, always <i>so carefully, </i>he didn’t look like he’d spasm or seize or have a stroke until Yuri was at his side again, Otabek as far from him as the room would allow.</p><p>Yuri couldn’t blame him. He knew -- oh, <i>boy, </i>he knew -- how he felt. The overwhelming terror when, his back turned, suddenly Otabek was in the room, near him without ever having made a sound. When, at first and sometimes still, Nadeika cried and would be held in Otabek’s arms -- the arms of an <i>alpha,</i> someone who could <i>hurt her -- </i>and Yuri had to take her from the space until they had both calmed down. When, even though Otabek gave him every warning that he was going to do so, a simple <i>touch</i> was too much for Yuri to bear, and sent him jerking away, scrambling back, terrified until he remembered where he was, that he could say<i> no, </i>that Otabek would <i>listen. </i></p><p>Their progress would be slow, Yuri knew as he watched Nikolai pointedly look away from the pot of coffee Otabek was offering, just as his and Otabek’s had been, continued to be, <i>would </i>be, but it was progress. He couldn’t ask it to hurry.</p><p>Yuri still, sometimes, was amazed and horrified by how much he trusted Otabek, and, as horrible as his personal experiences had been, he couldn’t imagine the terror his Dedushka must’ve felt when he’d been stolen from him. The mere thought of that happening to Nadeika, and Yuri had spiralled into panic attacks no few times himself, so it was<i> beyond</i> understandable that Nikolai wouldn’t trust or even<i> like</i> Otabek for some time yet.</p><p>But they were getting along better (and by <i>they,</i> Yuri meant <i>Deda),</i> and that was enough for him.</p><p>***</p><p>Yuri felt itchy, all over, when he stood in front of the fireplace, and told his Deda that he had to go.</p><p>“You’re leaving?” Dedushka looked from Yuri to Otabek, accusatory and frightened in the same glance, and Yuri watched as the tenuous strain of tolerance the old man had been growing for the past two weeks splintered. </p><p>“Not now,” Yuri corrected, “on Friday. We still have some time.”</p><p>“But you just got here!” </p><p>“We have to go back eventually,” Yuri said placatingly, though he couldn’t quite keep the nervous strain out of his tone. He would never not hate it when alphas raised their voices, and the anxiety borne of still being in Russia didn’t help matters. “We didn’t plan to stay as long as we have, and I’m technically still a citizen…” </p><p>And maybe it was the haunted look in Yuri’s eye as he left the sentence hanging in the air, the one he had never quite been able to shake, but Nikolai ceased his glaring and nodded, sending him a tight yet reassuring smile. “I understand, Yuratchka.”</p><p>Yuri felt his body begin to uncoil and nodded, relieved to be out from under the proverbial spotlight. He slunk over to lift Nadeika out of the old, wooden high chair Deda had never bothered to get rid of, relocated to the living room so the worryingly-adventurous baby could participate in their conversations from somewhere other than someone’s lap or the floor. Her crawling was far too good for Yuri to feel anywhere near comfortable unleashing her on a carpet that hadn’t been vacuumed in God only knew how long without both a play mat and constant, obsessive supervision-- the little gremlin wouldn’t escape and swallow something on his watch.</p><p>Settling the baby on his hip, taking her little hand in his own as it wandered dangerously close to his hair, Yuri gravitated toward the couch next to his grandfather.</p><p>“I suppose I’ll just have to come with you, then.”</p><p>--Only to stop dead in his tracks, blanching, staring at Nikolai as the old man shrugged, looking from him to Otabek expectantly.</p><p>“That isn’t a problem, I trust?”</p><p>Yuri would’ve been lying if he said he’d never thought about it. The idea of reconnecting with Nikolai only to have to leave him again was torture, even if they would be able to stay in contact this time, and his staying in Russia was completely out of the question. </p><p>He and Otabek had discussed it at length, too, what with the small house they’d moved into a few months before when they’d adopted a kitten and their apartment complex had a strict no-pets policy. The extra bedroom would be perfect for Nikolai, but, though Otabek had been the one to suggest the possibility while moving, Yuri had been hesitant to agree immediately, unsure if Deda was even still alive.</p><p>Now he was sure that he was… Yuri’s head swivelled to look at Otabek, too, trying to keep the hope from his expression.</p><p>Otabek, for all the pressure of having two, highly anticipatory, pairs of eyes on him, simply tilted his head, looking to Yuri as he raised his eyebrows. “Yura?”</p><p>Yuri gaped like a fish, but nodded, eyes widening in shock when Otabek, in turn, nodded, too. </p><p>“I don’t see why not,” he said, before glancing around the living room. “Though I’m not sure we could get you packed in time to leave in five days. Maybe we could move the flight again?” And again, he glanced at Yuri for confirmation. Yuri wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to that.</p><p>They’d moved their flights twice already, Yuri carefully not looking at the prices of the transactions, and, though the thought of staying in Russia even longer made his skin crawl, Yuri nodded. “I think we could make Sunday?” He suggested, petting Nadeika on her fuzzy, little head.</p><p>“Not with that attitude,” Nikolai interjected, before lifting himself from the couch and waving his hand decisively. “Come on then, a life’s worth of detritus isn’t going to be sorted and packed by itself!”</p><p>Yuri’s eyes flickered to Otabek; he spotted the twinkle in his eye, and, after a moment, grinned. Depositing Nadeika in his arms once more with a kiss on her little blonde head, he returned to Deda’s side, taking his direction and beginning to sort the “detritus” on the nearby bookshelf.</p><p>***</p><p>It was strange, leaving his childhood home. </p><p>Yuri stood in the doorway, Dedushka at his side, and gazed around the small, shabby, brick house he’d known so long. It felt so wrong to just leave it, ninety percent of its contents still inside, and force its inhabitant of almost fifty years from its interior. </p><p>But they were going somewhere better, now, and memories would be made that didn’t include the weathered, beaten-up, red-velvet armchair in the corner of the living room, though those that did would be far from forgotten.</p><p>Yuri had hidden behind that chair when he was seven, playing hide and seek with his grandpa, had tripped over it when he was twelve, home from Saint Petersburg and the Vaganova School of Dance for the first time in months, had watched Nadeika hold on to its seat and stand on wobbly legs, only to fall over as she tried to figure out how to sit back down. In all honesty, they were probably going to end up shipping the chair to the US eventually, the staple of their lives that it was, but that didn’t change the fact that they were leaving the rest of the house behind.</p><p>Yuri bit his lip, feeling tears come to his eyes. He’d spent<i> years</i> of his life longing to come back here, and now he finally returned, it was to feel uncomfortable in his own home, and leave again almost immediately-- permanently, this time.</p><p>But there was a reason why goodbyes were bittersweet, and this one was all the better because he was saying it, and could consciously leave this part of his life behind.</p><p>A warm hand on his shoulder, and Yuri turned.</p><p>Nikolai smiled at him, squeezed his arm. “Let’s go.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Nikolai returns! </p><p>Comments and kudos alight a fire within my burning soul! Leave more if you want the flames to burn pink and teal for eternity! ♥</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Epilogue: Part Three</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Epilogue Part Two recap: Deda! Things are calming down with Yuri and Otabek, and Nadeika is a gremlin and I love her. They return to the US, yay!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <i>***</i><br/>
<i>Two Years Later<br/></i>
<i>***</i>
</p><p>Yuri sighed as he fell against the kitchen counter, aware he was being stared at from three angles and uncaring. Deda, long-used to the routine following the bi-weekly Zoom calls to Japan, simply handed him a mug, already prepared and with steam issuing in spirals from the top of the liquid’s faintly green surface. Inhaling deeply, Yuri felt his heart calm slightly at the scent of the green tea, the only kind of tea he could stand, and scrubbed a weary hand across his face.</p><p>Otabek, from the doorway, pursed his lips, but, only too privy to Yuri’s emotions at the moment, only offered him an apologetic grimace and beckoned Nadeika from her chair at the kitchen table, helping her climb down from the formidable height of its seat, and gently fielding her questions about why Daddy was mad.</p><p>Yuri was mad because he was mad after <i>every </i>biweekly Zoom call to Japan, but, recently, had been handling it worse. As if he didn’t have enough to be getting on with, right now, as if scornful mutters of<i> “improper”</i> were what he needed added to his plate.</p><p>Just because he <i>knew</i> Otabek’s mother disapproved of him and his general existence in the vicinity of her child, did not mean he <i>liked</i> it. And, while he had once been able to deal with the biweekly belittling with some shred of grace, all, in the light of recent events, was gone from his store. </p><p>Initially upon meeting him, Mrs. Altin hadn’t been so bad, he remembered, near-longingly, as he stared into the depths of his mug. Doubtlessly Otabek had forewarned her of Yuri’s mental state, and, accordingly, she had treated him with kid gloves. And while, even back then, Yuri had<i> known</i> she didn’t think much of the match, had overheard several hushed yet heated arguments, it had been easier to ignore. Now, despite the fact Yuri would never actually be <i>okay,</i> after what he’d gone through, he was far more stable, and his mother-in-law’s qualms about openly voicing her distaste for him had long-since evaporated.</p><p>At least the woman had the decency to be kind to Nadeika. She’d visited once, for Christmas when the little girl was almost two, and, disapproving of Yuri as she had been, she’d been enchanted by his daughter on sight. Frankly, that was most of the reason Yuri still bothered to be present over Zoom these days-- Nadeika loved “Grandma” and was still too young to understand why her father sometimes couldn’t look her grandmother in the eye.</p><p>Not all of Otabek’s family was so bad, though, and for that Yuri was grateful. Serena and her mother, Aina, had always been kind to him, and their visits and Zoom calls were met with far more excitement than Mrs. Altin’s. </p><p>The last time Yuri saw her, he and Serena had spent a little over an hour coloring and discussing whether pink or blue was the superior hue. (Yuri was still on the side of leopard print, but that option had been eliminated early on, so he’d had to shift his allegiance to pink in the final round of the game.) And Aina, for all her mischief and competitive nature, was far too willing to embarrass Otabek with tales of his childhood antics for Yuri to be anything less than in love with her. </p><p>And despite how Otabek complained that their alliance was his downfall, Yuri had caught his quiet, hidden smiles as he watched them together, the relief on his face when Yuri had first begun to relax around his family. Yuri couldn’t blame him: after having been so skittish in the beginning, it had to have been reassuring to watch him <i>not</i> flinch when he was addressed unexpectedly. And, Yuri suspected, Otabek’s family (with one notable exception) being so welcoming to him had to help matters; something about the hardwiring of an alpha’s brain, his mate being accepted by his bloodline or whatever.</p><p>Regardless, Yuri had proven tenfold that he got along well with his in-laws, though today, he could admit, was not a shining example of it.</p><p>Yuri ran a hand through his hair, releasing the breath that had been caught in his chest for two hours, two <i>weeks,</i> and slumped further against the kitchen counter.</p><p>Nikolai set a hand on his shoulder. “That bad?”</p><p>“More of the same,” Yuri shrugged, “but today it’s just…”</p><p>Dedushka nodded, falling silent. “Are you ready?” He asked at length, “To relive so much?”</p><p>Yuri swallowed, inhaling the sweet, light aroma of the tea clasped between his palms. He nodded. “As I’ll ever be.”</p><p>***</p><p>A weight in his arms, and Yuri stumbled backwards, laughing, in the eye of the storm. Wild, red hair, shaved at the sides into some version of an undercut Yuri didn’t really understand shook back to reveal sparkling blue eyes, mirth dancing in them amidst a brief respite from emotion.</p><p>“Christ, Baba, you weigh a ton,” Yuri smiled as he let go of her, eyes raking her up and down. It was a lie, he’d barely even held her, but she looked <i>good.</i> More meat on her bones, a new shine to her eye, a natural flush in her cheeks he hadn’t seen at the house, hadn’t even seen when she’d visited six months ago. She was happy, and Yuri had never seen her more beautiful.</p><p>“Well, I guess that’s what solid meals and necessary sleep will do for a girl,” but she still smiled, radiant. It was the same dance every time for them, even though they saw each other twice a year, and one always had a snarky comment, the other a quip, at the ready.</p><p>“I’d love to try that out,” Yuri groaned, bending to pick up Mila’s bag, though she waved him off with a mischievous grin and waggling eyebrows, “sounds lovely.”</p><p>“Nadeika still keeping you up?” </p><p>“She wakes up at <i>six,</i> Baba! I thought once we finished the sleep training, I’d get to actually rest, but three years later, lo and behold--”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, you know you love her and you’d do it again in a heartbeat.” Mila rolled her eyes. </p><p>Yuri tilted his head; he <i>would</i> do it again. </p><p>“But how are you?” She asked, sobering some, “You look good, as good as six months ago, anyway-- are you ready to do this?”</p><p>Yuri sucked in a long breath. He wrapped his arm around her, ignoring the way Sara and Otabek lingered a respectful distance away, waiting for the re-acquaintance to run its course before joining their significant others. “Have you seen him, yet?” He asked in lieu of answering. </p><p>“His flight gets in in twenty, but we won’t be able to see him until tomorrow,” she replied softly. “Apparently they take refugee status pretty seriously here.”</p><p>Yuri nodded, swallowing, and, after a moment’s silence, a moment’s preparation, they returned to their partners.</p><p>***</p><p>Yuri fingered the mark on his neck as he stood before the mirror in the master bedroom, not yet sure he was ready to go downstairs. The faded, pink and white scar was placed at the juncture of his neck and his clavicle. It had only been put there last year, when Yuri had recovered enough to truly want it and Otabek trusted him enough to give it to him, but it had been a long time coming; they’d both wanted it sooner, but had agreed, Yuri somewhat reluctantly, that Yuri needed to be sure, that he couldn’t possibly make such a decision without at least starting to heal after what had happened to him. So they’d waited, spent their second heat together, and had emerged happier than Yuri knew them ever to have been.</p><p>And now, months and months after the fact, the little, round indentation of scar tissue gave him more comfort than he knew how to explain. Enough that, normally one to opt for more conservative clothing in company (a habit which had been beaten into him and that he was trying his damnedest to break-- America was <i>no</i> place for modesty), Yuri had worn a deliberately off-the-shoulder shirt for this, just so he knew the bond mark would be clearly visible.</p><p>He swallowed, glancing down at the light, oaken dresser his palms rested on and trying to calm the soft but very real trepidation coursing through his bloodstream.</p><p>After all these years, all this time working towards today, to seeing him again, suddenly, he dreaded it. He second-guessed everything. What right did he have, to be here, to share his experiences, as though they held the merest, flicker of a candle to what his friend had been through? Did he even get to call him a friend, anymore? They hadn’t seen each other in so long.</p><p>A light tap at the door, and Yuri looked up, meeting Otabek’s eyes in the mirror. He released the breath he’d been holding, a steady stream of air through his lips, and counted it out as Otabek moved across the room.</p><p>A gentle, barely-there hand on his back, the warmth of his mate pressed lightly against his side, the quiet, <i>“Yura,”</i> that came through slightly parted lips. “He’s downstairs,” Otabek said softly, eyes on his own in their reflection.</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>“We can start whenever you’re ready.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>“It’ll be okay, Yura.”</p><p>“I--” his words stuck in his throat. It bobbed as he swallowed, but he wasn’t sure it helped any. It was as difficult to breathe as ever. “I don’t--” he tried again, dropping his gaze to his clenched fists atop the wooden dresser. And then, quietly, “I’m scared.”</p><p>“I know,” soft lips pressed to his temple, light as the wings of a butterfly. “I can’t imagine how you must be feeling right now. But, Yura, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”</p><p>“Yes, I do.”</p><p>“You don’t,” Otabek’s voice was firm. “You’ve been through hell, no one would blame you if you didn’t want to relive it. You’ve come so far, and I’m so proud of you; ducking out of this, if it’s what’s best for you, will <i>not</i> make you weak.”</p><p>“See, it <i>would,</i> though,” Yuri swallowed, voice rough, and stared at his fists, clenched against the woodgrain of the dresser. “They <i>need</i> me. I’m the only one who can give them both sides of the story. And he’s gone through so much worse; I don’t have the right to--”</p><p>“You do. You absolutely, unequivocally, do. Just say the word, and they can find someone else. No one would think less of you for it.”</p><p>Yuri looked up, tears in his eyes, and met Otabek’s gaze. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and tremulous. “What if he hates me?”</p><p>Yuri could see the conflict in Otabek’s eyes; he wanted to tell him that,<i> no,</i> he<i> didn’t,</i> but he couldn’t promise that.</p><p>Yuri swallowed. “He has every reason to. He’s lived through-- he’s lived through <i>everything </i>and here I am, safe and domesticated with my perfect family, perfect life. Beka, <i>I’d</i> hate me.”</p><p>“Good thing we always thought differently, then.”</p><p>Yuri spun on his heels, searching for the voice, the <i>voice,</i> that had come from the doorway. And there, just on the threshold, was Minami.</p><p>Yuri’s breath caught in his throat. After two years, the man he knew was almost unrecognizable. The baby fat was gone from his cheeks, and from every part of his body, too; he was long, lean, and so, <i>so</i> thin. His hair, once bright and bouncy, was faded, cut short with the red fringe in the front just barely there. His eyes, which once held the childish sparkle, the naivety fostered from living happily, were dulled, weathered, beaten and broken, and yet still, inexplicably, <i>alive.</i></p><p>Yuri stepped forward, eyes searching, trying to find any trace of the child he’d once comforted after his first interaction with the guards, held as he fell apart, bid goodbye to at the house before he was dragged away-- and came up empty. A wry, sad smile curved Minami’s lips, and he held out his arms.</p><p>After so long, so many years and hardships and sorrows, it should’ve been <i>Yuri</i> who supported Minami, provided solace as a pillar of strength while he cried, but it was the other way around now. Carefully, always so carefully, Yuri brought one palm up to cup Minami’s sunken cheek, the tears in his eyes spilling over when Minami’s body tensed against his, before relaxing into the touch. “What have they done to you?” He whispered, cracked and quiet and horrified. The Minami he remembered leaped at any chance of cuddling.</p><p>“Nothing I couldn’t survive,” Minami replied, and his voice betrayed the same hardness Yuri had spoken a thousand times over. The child had grown up, toughened up, and survived, just like Yuri had taught him. And he’d <i>won.</i> </p><p>Yuri had never been so sad to see his lesson learned.</p><p>“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, arms tight around him. “I’m so so sorry I couldn’t get you out of there.”</p><p>Minami’s smile was soft and sad when he gave it. “That’s okay. In the end, I could do it myself.”</p><p>And he had. He really, <i>really</i> had. After enduring horrific abuses for <i>months</i> following his only two friends’ departure from the house, Minami had done the impossible, rising through the ranks until, within a year, he’d reached first. The matchmaker’s prized omega, the only male in the house, Minami had demolished the showings, every alpha after <i>him </i>and only him, and was kept in the house as a favorite for the next three months. </p><p>The first omega of the first rank, the one the matchmakers coveted, the guards worshipped, the rest of the omegas <i>dreamed</i> to be, Minami had escaped. The first <i>ever</i> to do so, whose methods Yuri had no clue of, Minami escaped, had hidden in Japan, and had been on the run for the next half of the year.</p><p>It had been barely three months ago that Yuri had heard from him, barely three months ago that he’d managed to escape to South Korea and procure passage to America, where he’d been given asylum upon his disembarkment. </p><p>Running, hiding, <i>surviving</i> through it all, Minami had made history, had <i>made it,</i> and was, finally, officially, <i>blessedly</i> safe. Yuri would, if possible, never let him go.</p><p>“I’m so proud of you,” Yuri murmured, staring into the war-torn, reality-imbued eyes which resembled a child’s no longer. </p><p>Minami returned his smile, and, at <i>last,</i> the soldier was gone. He slackened, just slightly, in Yuri’s arms, and buried his face in his shoulder. <i>“Thanks.”</i></p><p>***</p><p>Minami stayed at a hotel near them for a month after that (under a false name-- no measure for his protection had been spared), and by the time he left once more, it was only for an apartment two blocks away. Yuri hated that he’d moved even that far.</p><p>Mila, for all her desire to stay and move into the neighborhood, too, had eventually returned to Italy with Sara, vowing to come back for every major holiday, and every three months beyond that-- whichever came first on the calendar. </p><p>She stayed, though, long enough to see the article come out. They were all gathered on the couch -- teal, Yuri’s own pick from the home-goods store --, Minami stiff as a board beside Yuri and he and Mila similarly tense, when they finally got to see the finished product. Their testimonies, in print; their aliases, on the front cover; their words, the truth.</p><p>
  <i>
    <span class="small">For centuries, the matchmaking system has been an integral part of society, no matter what nation, no matter which culture, no matter what religion the people subscribed to. At first, it was accepted as the natural way of things; later, once the now-coveted ideals of “freedom,” “love,” and “choice,” came into play, it was justified in ten dozen different ways. “Omegas can’t take care of themselves.” “They need to be protected.” “They need to be educated for their jobs in life-- forming the cult of domesticity.” “They need help finding their alphas.” So the houses would help them.</span>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <span class="small">What always, conveniently, went unmentioned, was the abuse suffered by the occupants of these houses. The punishments, rapes, torturous forms of existence these omegas endured at the hands of their so-called (and unneeded) ‘caretakers.’</span>
  </i>
</p><p>When Yuri had first heard from Minami, it was to inform him that the latter was coming to America, that he had made it out. When he had <i>second</i> heard from him, near a month later, when Yuri had been this close to climbing the walls for worry, it was to inform him that Minami had arrived in the country, and would be staying a few states away until he could procure something that would allow him to fly to New Jersey, and that, <i>no,</i> Yuri couldn’t come see him. When he heard from him the third time, it was to inform him that this thing had been procured -- a journalist Minami had heard of through the grapevine, one who was willing to help him turn the world on its head --, that Minami would be flying out in less than two weeks, and that, <i>please, Yuri, we need you to help us. </i></p><p>So Mila, having also been kept updated, was called in, and, after much deliberation, Yuri had landed on <i>yes.</i></p><p>
  <i>
    <span class="small">From a veteran omega, born and raised in Japan, taken to her local matchmaking house upon presentation at age fifteen, all communication with her family denied, we hear how the first rank, the elite, the top tier of the omegas in Japanese houses, are treated-- and how they are born and raised like cattle, slaves to their future mates’ whims.</span>
  </i>
</p><p>Mila had taken no time in deciding to help. She’d always been braver than Yuri, and had finished her interview with Jordan, the journalist, with a stone-set face, even though she had been pale as a ghost and had shaken like a leaf when Sara had hugged her.</p><p>
  <i>
    <span class="small">From an escaped male omega, the first ever from his Japanese house, we hear how he managed it, how he survived beforehand and rose through the ranks during his near-two years at the house from fifth to first. Recounting the brutal assaults he suffered, the punishments that had lasted nearly six months following his infraction -- wanting to say goodbye to his friend --, and the feelings of isolation: the complete and utter lack of hope he experienced before his escape; we learn the realities of life in the omega house.</span>
  </i>
</p><p>Minami had given his tales quietly, simply, clinically. No window-dressing, he had simply… talked, and even when he’d gripped Yuri’s hand so hard he’d felt his bones crunch together, his face and his scent had been entirely calm. Yuri had never been prouder, and yet so devastated, at the same time.</p><p>
  <i>
    <span class="small">From an entirely unique omega, a victim of both Russian <b>and</b> Japanese houses, we hear a comparison of life in the two institutions, how this omega was sold after his first showing, paraded around the world for two years, and then sold again to his second, Japanese, house once he fell pregnant. We hear how he was dragged out of his family home in Russia, screaming, entirely against his will, when he presented as an omega, and was denied all access to his family until he was able to move to America-- four years later. We hear how he was raped, starved, beaten, denied all medical care, subjected to every possible abuse at the hands of the matchmakers-- and, at his second house, almost forcibly parted from his child, a nonconsensual adoption halted in the nick of time, before he almost lost his baby due to untreated illness.</span>
  </i>
</p><p>Yuri hadn’t been able to let Nadeika out of his sight for the next two hours, after he’d finished his interview. They’d scheduled a playdate for her during the time the journalist would be at the house, hoping to keep her away from the business, but it had proven a bad decision, and Yuri had ended up sitting in the park where the playdate was happening, watching from a distance, struggling to breathe. </p><p>He’d cried during the interview, he wasn’t proud to admit, but, despite Otabek’s reassuring presence next to him and the many breaks they’d taken so he could collect himself, Yuri had fully broken down that night.</p><p>Held in Otabek’s careful arms, Yuri had sobbed, the reminder of what <i>might have happened</i> too much to bear. The reminder of what <i>had happened</i> destroying any attempt he made to pull himself together. </p><p>He was glad he’d done it, of that he was certain. From the way the journalist -- the way <i>Minami</i> -- spoke, this article would spark change. Yuri was dubious about how much, but wanted to believe it, all the same.</p><p>And so they sat, shoulder to shoulder, hands white-knuckled around each other’s, on the teal sofa, Sara and Otabek and Nikolai waiting anxiously in the kitchen, to see the final version.</p><p>“It’ll be in print next week,” Jordan said, pushing up his square-rimmed glasses, every bit the former New York Times-employed journalist he’d claimed to be. “Here’s the finished layout. I wanted you guys to see it first.”</p><p>Three silhouettes, a standard Google-search image, stood with their backs to the camera, walking into a spot of blinding light. The words <i>“Survivors’ Accounts of Matchmaking System: The Truth at Last”</i> were splashed artfully across the foreground, a banner that wove around the figures. Well, they’d made front-page news, it seemed. Despite the rather tacky display, Yuri (and <i>Minami) </i>had done his research, and this journal really was a good one. A famous one, too. If they wanted to get the story out, this was the way to do it.</p><p>Yuri swallowed, accepting the publication held out to him. It felt heavy in his hands; he wasn’t sure he could bear to read it, not really, but he knew the others would. After five rounds of review, hours of talking, hours <i>more</i> with his therapist, Yuri knew the article was as good as it could be. </p><p>Regardless, Minami took it from him, flipped it open, and began to read.</p><p>***</p><p>Mila and Minami stayed at the house late into the night, that night. Late enough that, once 1:00 AM had come and gone, Minami had been convinced to sleep over in the guest room, across the hall from Mila and Sara, housed in the nursery. Nadeika had moved out, to the bigger room next to the master bedroom almost a year ago, but the nursery had remained, and now, with a double bed shoved temporarily into the center, provided hospitality to the couple.</p><p>Despite the fact they all had their own rooms, though, Yuri found himself, in the early hours before dawn broke, curled around both Mila and Minami in the latter’s bed, all awake, all held in each other’s arms. </p><p>They’d done something, and the impact had only just started to settle in. “This could burn the world down,” Jordan had said, and here they were, lying together as they watched fiery hues paint the horizon, dawn breaking on a new day, a new era, a new form of chaos brewing for release in only four days’ time.</p><p>“Do you think it’ll change anything?” Mila asked, soft and tired in the veiled darkness of the bedroom. “Or just make everything worse?”</p><p>They only breathed for a moment, in and exhaling as one. A hand wormed its way into Yuri’s, and he held it, unknowing and uncaring whose it was. “I don’t know,” Yuri said at last, watching as the darkness was slowly overtaken by light. “But it might.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>It did.<br/>It took time. It took a <i>lot</i> of protest and funding and strategic uses of social media, but it did.</p><p>Thank you for joining me on this literary journey, and I'll see you soon! ♥</p><p>Comments and kudos are lovely; this is my final plea for them. xD</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*Does a little dance*</p><p>A question: if I say "it's this, again!" do my returning readers (assuming there are any) know what I'm referring to? It would make sense if they didn't, but I have a feeling that this particular thing will quickly become what I'm known for in fandom. (If you do have an idea, let me know in the comments!)</p><p><b>Anyway, this fic will be updated once a week on Tuesday</b> with at least 2K words per update. The interval between updates might lengthen as I run out of prewritten material (the first four chapters are finished) but this story shouldn't be <i>too<i> long (she says hopefully), so I doubt it'll be by much.</i></i></p><p> </p><p>  <i><br/><i>In regards to other Otayuri week work, I <i>will</i> be posting a few other fics for it, but since this week has fallen on what is literally the worst possible time for me schedule-wise, I will be uploading (I mean writing, let's not pretend anything besides this is ready, yet) them <b>next week.</b></i><br/><i>Thank you all for reading! Comments and kudos, if you feel so inclined to give them, give me the strength to navigate Life, so any would be much appreciated. ♥</i><br/><i>My Twitter, where all updates and information will be posted: <a href="https://twitter.com/SophieParrish13">https://twitter.com/SophieParrish13</a></i><br/></i><br/></p></blockquote></div></div>
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